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ROSE AND ELZA 


SONGS AND STORIES 



or 

BYGONE 

DAYS IN FAYETTE COUNTY 

AJJD 


ELSEWHEEE. 

By E. C 

“ The storied pa«t . 

True tales that have the rime of age, 

And chronicles of eld.” 


NEW YORK: 

PRINTED BY EDWARD O. JENKINS^ SONS, 
20 North William Street. 





OOPYBIQUT, 1883 , BY 
E. CUSTEAD. 


Ml rights reserved. 



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TO 

THE MEMORY OF 

®lie JDeab, 

THE GODLY FOREFATHERS, THE BRAVE PIONEERS 

OF 

FAYETTE COUNTY, 

NAMED and nameless, 

WHOSE TIMES ARE SWIFTLY RECEDING FROM OURS ; WHOSE LABORS 
PRIVATIONS, JOYS, AND SORROWS GROWING YEAR BY YEAR 
MORE DIM AND LEGENDARY, MUST SOON BE LOST IN 

OBLIVION, 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
OF 

SKETCHES FROM REAL LIFE, VERITABLE RECOLLECTIONS, 

TRUE SONGS AND STORIES, 

^ IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTION ATEI.Y 

INSCRIBED 


BY THE GRANDCHILD OF A PIONEER 









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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Edict of Kantes — French Kefugees — The Early Dead 11 

CHAPTER II. 

Mrs. M. Robinson — A False Friend — A Woman’s Wit — An out- 
generaled General — The Accursed Bowl 14 

CHAPTER III. 

Tales for Winter Nights — The Doomed Sleighing Party 17 

CHAPTER lY. 

Pursued by a Gang of Wolves 21 

CHAPTER V. 

A Log-house — Old Fashions — Mooted Questions 24 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Merry Maiden — A Restless Conscience — The Last Ball 28 

CHAPTER YII. 

Changes — A first great Grief — Love that Survives the Tomb 32 

(CHAPTER YIII. 

A New Home — An Only Sister — A Country Beauty — Wooed and 
Won A 35 

CHAPTER IX. 

Wedding Bells — A Cottage Home — A Long Illness 38 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

Two Brothers — Captain Lee — The Bugle’s Call 40 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Unreturning Brave — Watching and Waiting. Sixty Years 
After 42 

CHAPTER XII. 

Constant Annie — Loving on through all Time 46 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Revolutionary War — ^Valley Forge — Yankees and Hessians’ 
Engagement over a Clay Oven — Home by the Potomac — A 
Bustling Cousin — Uncouth Neighbors— The Unjust Rich Man. 49 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Essex Milkmaid — Comic Revenge — A Night of Adventures. 57 
CHAPTER XV. 

Tim Giles, the Venison Man — The Wicked taken in his own Net. 66 
CHAPTER XVI. 

Deep Waters — Fair Hannah T. — The Fatal Leap 72 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Poor Blundering Joe — A Bruised Reed 75 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Fayette County — A New Home — Saved from Ruin 80 

CHAPTER X^X. 

A Second Deliverance — The Dame School- -First Rose Tree — 
Birds of the Wilderness 86 

CHAPTER XX. 

A Slow Decline — Bedford Springs — Dying in Springtime — 
Asleep in Jesus 98 


CONTENTS. 


7 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Fred, Rose, and Elza — Three Little Gipsies — Blissful Rambling 
— An Interrupted Party 102 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The First Pansies — Faithful Hetty — Wild Places, Flowers, and 
Pets 109 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Sunday Swinging — Old Watch, the Puritan House-dog 117 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

Admitted to the Bar — ^Voyage on a Flat-boat — The “Sunny 
South” 131 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Whisky Insurrection — A Hunted Fugitive — A Deathless 
Friendship — First Clergymen and Churches — ^An unfortunate 
Pastoral Visit 139 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Old-time Style of Living — Siah M. — Hal L. assaulted, and Allied 
Powers routed — Reading Aloud — Sweet Winter Nights at 
Home 161 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Mollie D., the Pauper — Born to Trouble 180 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Two years’ Probation — A Song that was Sung — A Wild Rose in 
the Bud 193 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

School-days — Punishments and Prizes — A Landscape in Needle- 
work 197 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Marrying and Emigrating — Broken Ties — The Parents* Grief. . . 209 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Juliet P. — Exchanging Books — Singing-schools — A Bouquet in 
Water-Colors 213 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Boating and Walking — Special Providences — Harry H. — ^Dreams 
Unrealized 228 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Park Street Seminary — Principal and Pupils — English Rector 
and Service 240 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A New Book — An Apple of Discord — Unpleasant Consequences. 253 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Home again — W ork — Dress — The^irst U mhrella 266 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Fred’s Sayings and Doings — Bertha C. — Two unexpected Wed- 
dings— Quits 275 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The Broken Heart 283 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

One more Trial — A Perverse Maiden — Elza’s Marriage — Paul 
T.’s Death 294 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Elza’s Air-Castles and Real House — A Rustic Bee — Robert M. — 

The Children 306 


CHAPTER XL. 

Teddy Buys the Baby — Endless Visits — Happy Days — A Wed- 
ding and a Wagon — Ted and Homer — The Lost Jug — Hugh 


CONTENTS. 


9 


Edgar Traulie — A Long Visit North — Mutual Disappointment 
— Parting Forever 858 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Katrina Van Costo — ^Fred’s Decline — A Hopeless Case — A stately 
Keepsake — Katrina’s Presentiment — ^A strange Sequel 372 


CHAPTER XLII. 

By-gone Scenes on the Old Pike — ^Places of Historic Interest in 
Fayette County— The Legend of White Rock, including the 
two Oldest and most Popular Elegies on Polly Williams — The 
Execution of McFall — The Murdered Peddler — Capital Punish- 
ment 384 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Lotta’s Sunday-school Prize — Bessie’s Widowhood — Growing Old 
— “ The Last of Earth ” — Quiet Sleep — Awaking in Heaven. . . 418 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

A Second Union — The Old Home goes to Strangers — J. Elmer’s 
Death — A Heart turning Homeward — Forty Years’ Absence 
— Withered Grandames — On the Verge — Recalling Life’s 
Morning 452 


CHAPTER XLV. 

Elma Hamilton — The Spring on the Hill — Carried Home to Die . 466 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

Teddy M. — The Old Plantation — ^Five Brothers — Diverging 
Paths — I would not live alway ” — Graves of the Household.. 471 

CHAPTER XL VII. 

Biief Sketch of the Life, Letters, and Songs of a Pioneer Work- 
er in the Temperance Cause. 479 


10 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Old Tent Church, and List of its Pastors and Elders for more than 
a Century — Dr. A. G. Fairchild’s Death and Funeral . . ...... 534 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

Fayette’s Early History — First Settlers — Manufactories — Distin- 
guished Men — ^jVIineral Wealth .... 544 

CHAPTER L. 

Conclusion 595 


CHAPTEE L 


** Far away, far away, the emigrant ship must sail to-day ; 

CruQl ship, to look so gay ; bearing the exiles far away/’ 

Every reader is familiar with the history of the fierce 
persecution that raged against the unoffending Huguenots 
at and after the Eevocation of the Edict of Nantes,* when 
amid Papal rejoicing Protestantism was proscribed in France, 
when its churches were destroyed, its ministers banished, 
its children made fugitives, till despairing of all hope, vast 
numbers of them forsa-king home, country, everything, fled 
to foreign lands, rather than submit to the cruel bondage of 
Rome. By this act, as impolitic as base, France lost thou- 
sands (some say 600,000) of her best citizens, and has not to 
this day recovered from the suicidal blow. But these facts 
need not be repeated here, except as an introduction to one 
who, like themselves, seems to appear, only to disappear, and 
be seen no more — M. Jean Leslie Jenniens. This French 
Protestant, like thousands of his fellow-refugees, escaped to 
England, and, after spending a short time there, and in 
Scotland, sailed for America, and landed at New York, 
where he seems to have remained for a long period, if not 
permanently. Tradition affirms that he belonged to a 
wealthy family in France ; but if true, his possessions must 
have consisted of real estate, or of something else equally 
useless to him in his hurried, secret flight, for there is no 


* This famous Edict, favoring the Protestants, was issued at Nantes, 
by Henry the IV., April, 1598, and revoked by Louis the XIV. Oct., 
1685. 


( 11 ) 


12 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


account of wealth connected with his history in this country^ 
On the contrary, his descendants aj)pear to have inherited 
little from him except sound minds and bodies, and* to have 
received little save good mental and moral training. And 
thus endowed (or, as some would judge, unendowed), they 
went forth, depending mainly on their own resources to gain 
place and fortune. Two, Jean and Leslie, entered the army, 
the one as captain, the other as lieutenant-colonel, ^nd both 
were killed in battle; but in which war they fell, the French,* 
or the Revolutionary one, is (to the writer) unknown. A 
third became a minister and doctor of divinity in New York ; 
and a fourth came to Pennsylvania and filled an editor’s 
chair in Philadelphia. He afterward went to Boston, Mass., 
where he started a large publishing house and conducted it 
ably and successfully till death. Another located near Tren- 
ton, N. J., where he found congenial society among the 
stiu’dy Calvinists of the place, some of whom were de- 
scended from sires as loyal as his own. These latter were 
English, Scotch, and Scotch-Irish Presbyterians whose fore- 
fathers had suffered under “ Bloody Mary,” stood firm at 
the “ Siege of Derry,” and fought and bled in the wars of 
the Covenanters. But all this was matter of history now ; 
Popery and persecution were here unknown, and though 
Prelacy abounded, Presbyterianism prevailed. Most of his 
intimate associates were of this faith and order, and he re- 
mained with them for years : where we leave him, while we 
glance at other characters. In this peaceful rural commu- 
nity, where sameness of sentiment, like interests, and fre- 
quent intercourse fostered close friendships, lived two 
pleasant families, the Robinsons and the Banleys, who in 
time were drawn stiU nearer together by a union between 
their children. 

The high contracting parties were the first-bom of each 


*More probably the French War. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


13 


house, Kowland R. and Bessie B., who soon after their mar- 
riage took a farm between the villages of AV d and 

S s, and settled down contentedly in the midst of their 

kindred, and for seven years were happy. Two fair chil- 
dren, a son and a daughter, were given to their care, and 
filled the house with their prattle and glee. On November 8, 
1750, a third child was born. The mother never rose again; 
but lingering fondly over her nursling a few days, expired. 
She died on the 29th of the same month — ^November — on a 
dark, tempestuous night : so wild and drear that few could 
be summoned to weep with the living, or minister to the 
dead ; and^he trembling hands of her own mother aided in 
smoothing the shining hair, and robing the young form for 
the grave. 

Of this wife and mother so early dead, little can now be 
known, except that her housekeeping was the admiration 
and model of the neighborhood, and herself a proverb for 
neatness and taste in dress. It was said that from the 
glossy lustre of her dimities and muslins, the crisp, snowy 
freshness and finish of her caps and frills, the exquisite pu- 
rity that invariably invested her whole person, the old wives 
would playfully exclaim on seeing her approach some fes- 
tive scene : Ah ! here comes Bessie R. just from under the 
iron, or out of the bandbox.” However, judging from 
other and varied data, there is little or no doubt that Mrs. 
R., while excelling in these minor morals, did not by any 
means forget or neglect the weightier matters of the law. 


The young husband did not long survive his wife, and the 
three little orphans were taken to other homes. The elder 
children, Cordelia and Rowland, were taken by their gTand^ 
ma B., the young babe by its grandma R., and by her 
named for its lost mother, Bessie. 


14 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEE n. 

** Life’s checkered, changing scenes.'* . 

This loving friend and kinswoman of the orphans, Mrs. 
Mary Eobinson, the grandame, mother, and guardian in 
one, deserves more than a passing notice. 

She had an agreeable countenance, a tall, pojtly person, 
almost masculine strength of body, and equal vigor of mind. 
She had much decision and force of character, too ; and 
when once convinced a plan was right, and ought to be fol- 
lowed, invariably went promptly and firmly to execute it if 
possible, in spite of all obstacles ; yet all these strong traits 
were combined with true womanly delicacy and tenderness, 
and softened by Christian grace. 

She had known many trials. Her husband had died in 
early life, leaving a family of young children to her unaided 
care, besides several colored persons mostly young also, 
who, according to the custom of the age, formed a part of 
nearly every household. Mr. E. had possessed a fair estate, 
and appointed as executor a friend in whom he and all the 
community placed the utmost confidence. 

Squire M. was a genial, smooth-spoken, plausible man, a 
favorite with aU classes, but one who, in the end, signally 
exemplified the oft-repeated line, “ A man may smile, and 
smile, and be a villain.” For while demeaning himself 
among his acquaintances with all that charming urbanity 
that made him so beloved, and treating the widow and or- 
phans with sympathizing kindness, he was at the same time 
busily plotting their ruin, and in this succeeding only too 
well — eventually possessed himself of the greater share of 
( 14 ) 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


15 


the property. Poor Mrs. R. knew not what course to pur- 
sue, for so deep and well had the plans of this devourer of 
widows’ houses been laid, that little or no positive proof 
could be brought against him. The neighbors, too, beheld 
with pity and fierce indignation ; but none dared advise 
her to risk the pittance left in the tardy and uncertain quest 
of justice by law. So, hated and despised by many and 
trusted by none, the wicked man went his way ; and his 
victim resigned herseK to her fate, and with anxious care 
began retrenching expenses, and in every way adapting her 
style of living to her altered fortune. But more sad changes 
awaited her stiU. Some epidemic (scarlet fever probably) 
was then sweeping through the country, and her whole fam- 
ily was soon prostrated, and four of her children died in 
quick succession. Only a few days, and four fresh mounds 
appeared beside the late-made grave of her husband. Of 
her own family of seven, two babes only remained ; but aU 
the colored children eventually recovered. These could not 
be made to understand the mystery of death, but, wander- 
ing round the forsaken playground, they would climb on 
some eminence and call long and loudly for their un answer- 
ing mates. Many a heart-ache their calling and ques- 
tioning caused their gentle mistress, and many a tear they 
brought to the poor mother’s eyes The two sur- 

viving sons fiourished and grew to manhood. Rowland be- 
came a staid, useful citizen, a faithful husband, a dutiful 
son, his mother’s pride and joy ; but, as has been related, 
she lost him too by death in early manhood. Jackson, now 
the last, “ the only son of his mother, and she a widow,” 
was the prodigal, the trouble of aU. He drank, neglected 
his business, wasted his property, contracted debts, sought 
evil company, and by his many irregularities filled her heaH 
with grief and anxiety. 

At one time a recruiting paidy marched through the 


16 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


streets with floating banners and sprightly music, and, as is 
usual, a band of idlers soon gathered round them. Mirth 
and jolhty prevailed, liquor flowed freely, and before long 
several had taken the king’s bounty and enlisted in the 
army. Among them was Jack R., and the news was soon 
carried to his mother. Here, then, was new trouble. With 
all his faults she loved him well. How could she give him 
up? for he was her all. And more than all else, what 
would become of him ? If in a Christian home, amid all 
the holy influences pervading a Christian community, he had 
strayed so far, whither would he drift when far away, sur- 
rounded by all the temptations of camp life, freed from aU 
restraint, and no man caring for his soul ? 

As soon as she could command her thoughts, she hast- 
ened to the captain in command, and urged all her pleas : 
‘‘her widowhood, her son’s youth, the unfair advantage 
taken in providing liquor and enlisting him when half un- 
conscious of his actions,” etc. The English officer received 
her politely, and consoled her after this fashion : “ My dear 
madam, I am sorry to grieve you, but you are aware that we 
must take somebody's sons. His Majesty would have few 
soldiers if we waited for the consent of their mothers. 
There is your son’s name. He has taken the king’s bounty 
and belongs to his army.” She turned to her boy, — ^thorough- 
ly sober now, and remembering there was no invading foe 
to meet, no prospect of glory or even action — only the nev- 
er-ending drill and wearisome waiting in the dull barracks; 
— there had come a reaction. The enthusiasm of the pre- 
vious night, born of music, toasts, and flowing bumpers, 
when “ each had felt himself a host,” had begun to evapo- 
rate. Touched, too, with his mother’s sorrow, he told her he 
would remain with her if the captain would release him. 
But “ no, he could not lose his recruits because they were 
drunk when enlisted and their mothers cried.” No, no, he 
was entirely inexorable. But Mrs. R. was equally firm. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


17 


Her woman’s wit, not yet exhausted, suggested another 
plan. She knew that the civil law was above the martial 
law in time of peace. Jack had borrowed money of her, 
and had not yet repaid it. Quick as thought she flew to the 
nearest magistrate, entered suit against him, and had him 
promptly arrested and committed to prison for debt ; and 
the irate John Bull, finding himself outgeneraled, gave up 
the case, and, no more recruits offering, summoned his 
“ brave boys, struck his tent, and marched away.” 

The resolute dame had vanquished one foe and driven 
him from the field ; but, alas ! there was another, a cruel, 
a mortal foe still, over which she had httle power. Rum, 
that accursed thing, that enemy to all good, that source of 
ten thousand ills, was ruining her precious child for time 
and eternity, and all her efforts against it seemed almost in 
vain. Many a time, as the sad years dragged on, she 
thought of those little graves, those earlier trials, with al- 
tered feehngs, and wished he too had died at that blessed 
period, when, without doubt or fear, she could have said, 
“ It is well with the child” 


CHAPTER HL 

“We loved each other tenderly, .... and all our adventures were 
by the fireside, and all our migrations from the blue bed to the 
brown.” 

“ In such an hour as ye think not .... he shall come.” 

But for the greatest crosses^ Christian resignation, and 
Time, the great consoler, wiU bring easing ; and by the time 
her little ward Bessie could converse rationally, she had be- 


18 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


come a pleasing, and even a cheerful, companion. Through 
the base executor’s schemes, they were far from rich, but 
they had a small farm still, and, by thrift and economy, 
managed to live within their income, comfortably and re- 
spectably. They had many kind and valued neighbors, 
with whom they often exchanged hospitalities ; but the 
greater part of the time, from year to year, the loving pair 
lived in their pretty cottage, desiring no company but each 
other, — and exceedingly happy, though quite alone. Often, 
as the two sat by the round work-table, before the blazing 
wood fire, the grandame would beguile the long winter 
evenings by tales of the olden time ; recollections of her 
own life or the lives of others ; incidents that had occurred 
long ago, in her day, or in her parents ’, in that country, or 
in some distant one. Sometimes she described the aspect 
of the country in her girlhood : the rude log-cabins, and 
primitive dress of the early settlers ; the severe winters, — 
the deep snows ; the immense forests, infested with wild 
beasts, especially wolves, that occasionally pursued the na- 
tives to their very doors. These, and a thousand other 
things, she would relate to the one bright little listener, who 
never grew weary ; but verily thought her granny the wisest, 
best, most charming woman in the world. During those 
long winters mentioned, she said snow sometimes feU in 
such quantities that (excepting the ends of the stakes) fences 
disappeared for weeks at a time, and so much would fall in 
a single night that whole flocks of sheep that had not been 
folded were completely buried. In the morning their own- 
ers,' armed with spades and shovels, would struggle out to 
the field, and ascertaining their whereabouts by the small 
round vent their breathing had kept open, would dig and 
drag them from their chilly prison. These were the palmy 
days for sleighs ; a wagon or a carriage scarcely being seen 
from December till April. Sleighing was the amusement 
for the season, and almost the business. The ladies were 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


19 


not deterred from taking their share of the pleasure by the 
extreme cold, but in heavy cloaks, close-fitting hoods, and 
velvet or silk masks to protect their fair countenances, and 
thick overshoes and tiny stoves to keep the frost from their 
feet# ventured out night and day. But the pleasure was by 
no means without alloy ; sad accidents often accompanied 
iti. One day when the sleighing was very fine, and the 
weather very, yes, bitterly cold, a couple started to a friend^s, 
a ride of a number of miles, and over a rather unfrequented 

road Near evening the master of the house, seeing a 

sleigh approaching, hastened to replenish his fires, and make 
all bright and cheerful for his guests, and then stepped to 
the door to receive them. They were not there, though. 
The horses had stopped at the gate, but the visitors, muffled 
closely in their wraps, still kept their seats. The host pass- 
ing down, threw open the gate, and cheerily hailed, and in- 
vited them to alight and enter ; but they neither moved nor 
answered. Suspecting a jest, and yet wondering a little at 
their behavior, he walked briskly forward, and offered his 
hand to welcome and assist them, but suddenly drew back 
with a cry of horror. Cold and rigid as marble two corpses 
SAT BEFORE HIM. They had frozen to death ; yet the driver 
still held the whip and reins, and with so tight a grasp that 
they could not draw them away, but were obliged to cut 
them from the unyielding fingers, clenched so firmly and 
frozen so hard. 

At another time, a temble accident, that made nearly 
half the community mourners, occurred. Some gay young 
friends, five or six couples, agreed to meet on a certain 
evening, and, all together, start out for a long, delightful 
ride. At the appointed time all were at the rendezvous, and 
several sleighs, filled with “ the brave and the fair,” sj)ed 
away in the moonlight over the glittering snow. The frozen 
river, with its miles on miles of smooth, level surface, formed 
an agreeable, easy drive, though not always a safe one. 


20 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Even when frozen very deep, there would occasionally bo 
weak, thin places, which, entirely hidden by the snow, proved 
dangerous snares to the traveller. Still it was considerably 
used by many, and was an especial favorite with pleasure- 
parties wishing to show the mettle of their teams^ and 
their own skill in annihilating time and space in driv- 
ing. To this fashionable resort the happy party came, 
entered the beaten track, and giving loose reins to the eager 
steeds, dashed away. Up and down, back and forth, hither 
and thither, the light barks glanced and skimmed along. 
Hour after hour passed, and still the merry music of the 
bells rang out on the midnight air, mingled with joyous 
laughter, jest, and song. It was growing late now, and, 
close packed together, they prepared for one — only one 
— more glorious race. At the given signal all swept 
away Hke the wind. But in the midst of hilarious mirth 
and headlong speed, there came a crash ! a shriek ! a plunge ! 
The ice was breaking in ! Then a wild chorus of shrieks, 
and prayers, and wails, pierced the air, and froze the blood 
of the listeners. In village and farm-house, quaking vrith 
terror, they started from their beds, and rushed to the 
scene. But the river was wide, and deep, and swift ; and 
long before any effectual aid could be given, the last cry 
was hushed, the last young heart stilled forever. And the 
fair, treacherous waters closing over youth, life, and hope, 
rolled on, cold and unheeding, above the dead. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


21 


CHAPTEK IV. 

“ Hist ! hark ! Is that the owlet's cry, or wolf’s long hdwl ? ” 

Such incidents as the last two, ending so sadly, affected the 
sensitive child too much. And then the kind guardian, would 
relate something of a different kind, less exciting, or that 
ended pleasantly. One winter’s night was made forever 
memorable to the little maid by a wolf story, in which the 
narrator herself was the heroine. Said Mrs. E. : 

^‘Not long after your grandfather and I were married, 
one day late in November, or perhaps in the first of Decem- 
ber, I went two miles from home to visit my cousin, Jane 
G., and also assist her in some household matters. Be- 
tween chatting and working, the time passed swiftly away — 
indeed, rather too swiftly — for, on rising to leave, I found 
the sun not more than haK an hour high. But I was young 
and brave, and withal an excellent walker ; so, bidding a 
hasty good-night, I set out. I thought I had abundance of 
time ; still I walked briskly, as was m^ wont, and then the 
road was lonely, and I knew the wolves commenced their 
nightly serenade soon after sunset, and I did not care 
even to hear them in that sohtary place. I got on very well. 
Nearly a mile was passed ; almost half-way home.. But 
hark ! what sound is that, — away, deep, deep in the forest ? 
I half pause to listen, and soon hear it again, far, far away, 
j^d now again and more distinctly it falls upon my ear. I 
know it now. It is the ‘ warning cry of an outpost wolf.’ I 
can not be deceived ; I have heard it too often ; and yet, 
though familiar, the sound is a little startling here. He has 
scented something, leagues away perhaps, and is summon- 


22 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ing his mates. There, one has answered him away in Kir- 
by’s Gorge ; and now another from the Eidge. The concert 
is beginning early this evening ; there will be a grand chase 
somewhere. But I wish I were home ; sitting by Mal- 
com’s side, I could enjoy the tlirilling chorus ; but not here, 
alone. Of course, there is no danger ; the cowardly curs 
seldom venture into the settlement, and never in pleasant 
weather and by daylight. 

“ Thus commenting and reasoning with myself, I yet, in- 
consistently enough, began to feel a little nervous, and to walk 
very rapidly. And now, for the fourth time, the wild cries 
came booming dolefully through the dark woodlands ; not 
two, or three voices now, but a dozen or more answering from 
all quarters, and no further off than before. Was it mere 
fancy, or did it really sound nearer ? I started faster still, 
and still listened as I ran, for a contradiction to my foolish 
fancy ; but no, again the dread sound echoed on the still 
evening air, louder and more fearful ; for a host of savage 
howls now joined in chorus, and yes, the chase was toward 
me; undoubtedly they were coming yiearer ! True, they 
were at quite a distance yet, but every successive roar 
sounded less distant. The careful sentry had done his duty 
well. The whole gang was roused, and for what ? I dared 
not ask. Louder aryi louder, nearer and nearer came the 
deafening yells. They were — yes, the wolves were on my 
trail. Doubt was past. Assurance had come. I was the 
destined pre}^, — I the promised feast. Mine, the warm blood 
to lap-; mine, the quivering limbs to tear. My marrow froze at 
the thought. My hair stood up with horror. But it was no 
time for womanish weakness. Commending myself to 
heaven, and summoning all my powers, I started — a rac^ 
with death I ... . But what was my strengih to theirs ? In 
spite of my utmost speed, they gained on me every moment. 
All at once I thought of Jennie’s gift of fresh pork, and 
dashed it from me. This would gain me a respite. Yes, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


23 


very soon the cry of pursuit was hushed, and I knew the 
whole pack had halted to growl and fight over the precious 
morsel, and shuddered to think how lately my feet had 
pressed that spot. 

“ But soon — how fearfully soon it seemed — the long howl, 
the howl of the chase, arose again. On, on they came. I 
had one more help, — the cloth that had wrapped the meat ; 
I dropped it, and sped on. Again they halted, snarling, 
grumbling, snatching from each other the greasy, flesh- 
scented linen. It took scarce a minute to dispose of that, 
and again the unearthly yells burst forth, and the long gal- 
lop echoed over the frozen ground. I tore my apron from 
my waist. They paused again to snarl and fight over that, 
and then again rushed on. What could I do more ! Madly 
snatching my shoes* from my feet, I flung them behind me, 
and for the fourth time succeeded in stopping their career, 
and gaining a few rods on them. Here my heart gave a 
bound: I saw my husband running to meet me, and seizing 
my hand, we almost flew over the remaining distance. We 
had nothing more to tempt the gaunt villains to delay, and 
they were gaining on us fast, ho fast. But now, home, home 
is in view ; and every nerve is strained afresh ; but shall 
we ever reach it, — for on, on, howling, screeching, tramp, 
tramp, so many, so near, come the fiends behind us. We are 
in the yard ; we reach the threshold ; we burst in at the 
door ; and scarcely can we close and bolt and bar it tiU the 
house is surrounded by oim baffled foes, and the whole val- 
ley resounds with their infuriated yeUs of rage and disap- 
pointment. From our sure refuge within we heai* the wild 
tumult without, and watch the maddened mob leaping 
against the door, glaring with fiery eyes, gnashing their 
teeth and lashing themselves into fury for their loss. 


* Low, slipper-like slices. Had the high, laced, or buttoned shoe of 
to-day been used, this story would never have been told. 


24 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


‘‘ The race for life is ended, and we are saved. Kept by 
the God of Daniel, not one of our bones is broken, not a 
hair of our heads has fallen. Surely, His mercy is wonderful, 
and if ever we felt unfeigned, unutterable gratitude for His 
goodness, it was on that never-to-be-forgotten night.” 


CHAPTER y. 

Queen Fashion is a tyrant born. 

And now, my brother, as to business and recreation, take thou 
one safe rule : See that thou dost go no whither, engage in no work 
or sport, where and wherein thou durst not pray, ‘ Ood he with me 
and bless me now' " — Old English Tract. 

But in that locality all this was among the things that 
were. The mighty woodlands with their shaggy denizens 
had been swept away by the advancing tide of civilization ; 
and even the log-cabin was obsolete, or so nearly so that at 
the age of twelve Bessie had never seen one. Some visitor 
happening to mention that there was a veritable round log- 
cabin still standing on the bank of Dodd’s Creek, some four 
miles away, she at once asked leave to visit it. The indul- 
gent grandma humored the harmless whim, and laughingly 
bade her go, and look at the old ruin to her heart’s content. 

She started on her walk very gaily, but returned from her 
researches a little disappointed, saying, ‘‘Why, gTanny, I 
don’t think, after all, that that old log-house was worth go- 
ing to see. I thought it would look real curious ; but it’s 
a’most just like the play-houses I used to build out of cobs.” 

Other things had changed too, dress included. The com- 
fortable homespun of the past generation had given place to 
foreign fabrics of various kinds, the lowest being very dear. 
Cotton prints were a dollar and often more per yard, yet 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


25 


were much used ; and white dresses of dimity, and stuff 
gowns were also common ; and rich silks were occasionally 
seen. They were made up elaborately, too ; the sleeves, 
tucked, ruffled, frilled, and wide-flowing at the hand, were 
so extravagantly full and wide, that a lady in full-dress 
sometimes had her sleeves reach to her knees.* The waists 
were ornamented too, more or less generally, and many of 
the skirts were flounced, and nearly or quite aU were 
trained. Stays, tightly laced’ and hoop-skirts were univer- 
sal, and often worn at home at work, as weU as abroad; even 
smaU girls wearing them at every-day work and play. 
Great attention was paid to the hair also, many styles pre- 
vaihng at different times. At one time a cushion was 
placed on the top of the head, and the hair all drawn over 
it, and tied very tight ; often a coiffure of lace and ribbon 
or flowers surmounting all. Many ladies of that day be- 
came bald, owing, it was thought, to this fashion of dressing 
the hair. It was painful too, but few dared to rebel and 
disregard Dame Fashion. 

Though considerable style and culture prevailed, there 
was little stiffness, the manners of the people being gener- 
ally, in that section at least, very free and hospitable at all 
times; and especially during their long, snowy winters, they 
indulged in a bountiful measure of sleighing, visiting, feast- 
ing, and^many innocent recreations. Around the larger towns 
racing and gaming were very common, and balls and parties 
frequent, and quite popular with the young and the gay. 
Some professors of religion joined in all these pursuits too, 
and even seemed more at home and more active in reels, 
cotilhons, cards, etc., than they ever had been in the prayer- 
meeting, in instructing the anxious, or visiting the sick and 
dying. The more spiritual-minded, working members, la- 

* A fine white cambric, the wedding-gown of her mother, was made 
in this style, and was long preserved by Bessie, not only as an heir- 
loom, but as a curiosity. 

2 


26 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


mented the careless lives of the unthinking crowd around 
them, and still more the levity and evil influence of those 
professing godliness ; and often conversed with each other 
on this subject of lawful and unlawful sports and games, 
and also with their children and young friends, endeavoring 
to instruct and prepare them for the temptations awaiting 
them on every side. They dwelt especially on dancing, be- 
cause it was more common and fascinating than most other 
pleasures, and, in the judgment of many, was one of the 
most ensnaring and dangerous. 

“ Dear children,” they would say, ‘‘ the worldhng will tell 
you that this is a healthy exercise, and a most graceful and 
charming recreation. The gay professor will go still further, 
and assure you that it is not only all that, but it is a per- 
fectly^ harmless amusement, and must be right, for the Bible 
says ‘ there is a time to dance,’ and mentions its being fre- 
quently practiced by God’s chosen people of old. But we 
can convince you that in the two most importairt points the 
assertions of both are entirely erroneous. Dancing as prac- 
ticed now is neither healthy nor Scriptural. The mode of 
dressing for it, the great fatigue, late hours, excitement, and 
many other hurtful concomitants of the ball-room are ex- 
ceedingly injurious to health, and the fruitful source of 
many diseases. 

“ The second asseiiion is equally unsound. Every Bible 
reader willing to know the truth, can see that the dancing 
mentioned in the sacred record approvingly, was something 
very different from what is practiced now. 

“ It was not an amusement * at all, but a religious rite, per- 
formed only on joyful occasions, national or domestic, and 
expressive of pious joy and gratitude to God for mercies re- 

*The exceptions are the '^children sitting in the market-place — 
Luke vii. 81, 32. Also those ‘‘vain fellows mentioned 2 Sam. vi. 
20 ; the ungodly rich families alluded to Job xxi. 11 and the danc- 
ing which caused John the Baptist to lose his head — Matt. xiv. 6. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


27 


ceived or dangers escaped. It was not held by night, or 
led by light music, in stifling, crowded rooms as now, where 
with laugh and jest both seN:es mingle together in garish 
costumes, and God is not in all their thoughts. This Jew- 
ish dancing was usually performed in the ‘ open air, by day, 
and by one of the sexes only.’ Search your Bibles, children, 
from Genesis to Kevelation, and you will find men perform- 
ing it or women, but not one instance in which both united 
together in this exercise, and ventured to degrade it into 
mere worldly, unseemly pastime. 

‘‘ The timbrel, a kind of drum, was used to direct the 
movements, and devotional songs accompanied it. You 
know how Miriam and the other women with her came joy- 
fully out with timbrels and dances after the wonderful de- 
liverance at the Bed Sea, chanting, ‘ Sing ye to the Lord, 
for he hath triumphed gloriously.’ And how, when the 
Jews with gladness and costly offerings, and the sound of 
the trumpet welcomed the Ark of God to Zion, and their 
king blessed them in the name of the Lord of hosts ; then 
it was that in pfoMS joy David leaped and danced before the 
Lord, And in Psalms he calls on all living to give praise to 
God in this way. ‘ Praise ye the Lord Let the chil- 

dren of Zion be joyful in their King. Let them praise his 
name in the dance ; let them sing praises unto him with the 
timbrel and the harp. Praise him with the timbrel and the 
dance ; praise him with stringed instruments and organs. 
.... Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord' ” 

Many other texts might be given, but these will suffice to 
show you that, except in name, there is slight similarity be^ 
tween this old Jewish dance and the modern one. Besides, 
you will observe in reading the Bible, and secular histories 
also, that these orientals were exceedingly demonstrative in 
everything, and had many singular customs. If right and 
proper for our cold-blooded northerners to attempt follow- 
ing one of their customs, why should they not follow aU these ? 


28 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


For instance, to honor a superior, they bowed seven times 
before him, with their faces to the earth, or fell prostrate on 
their faces. To show politeness to a guest, they removed his 
shoes, and, after washing his feet, poured oil on them, and 
also on his head, to drop over his garments. One manner of 
showing joy was to anoint not only the head and feet, but 
the whole body with oil. To express grief or bemoan calam- 
ity, they cast aside all ornaments and ordinary dress, and 
wore sackcloth, fasted, covered their faces, smote their 
breasts, went barefooted, and sat on the ground with ashes 
on their heads. They mourned thus for the dead, neglecting 
and abusing their bodies from seven to thii-ty days, and once 
at least every seventy days. They also rent their garments, 
plucked out their hair, and cut their flesh with knives till the 
blood gushed out, etc. If such an ardent, demonstrative race 
had really danced for mere gladness, it would not have 
been stranger than many of their other customs. No, it 
would not have been as strong an expression of pleasure as 
rending the clothes, tearing out the hair, and cutting the 
flesh was of sorrow. After this manner the stricter parents 
and watchful elders taught the baptized children as oppor- 
tunities occurred— line upon line, precei)t upon precept, 
here a little and there a little. Nor was Mrs. R. a whit be- 
hind the very chief est of these instructors. On this and 
most subjects she held decided opinions, and some of her 
“ views ” will appear in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER YL 

How long halt ye between two opinions ? . . . . My son, give 
i>ne thine heart,” 

Grandma R. was not only a tender, loving parent to Bes- 
sie ; she was a faithful guardian and a prudent, judicious 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


29 


friend. Ever seeking the best interest of her ward for time and 
eternity, while instructing her daily in all necessary common 
duties, the all-important subject of religion was never for- 
gotten. Sometimes she taught her lessons from her own 
experience, telling her of the danger and power of worldly 
pleasures, if once enslaved by them, and how difficult it had 
been for her to forsake them. Dancing had been her spe- 
cial temptation, there having been parties for it weekly; and 
so absorbing had she found the amusement and the com- 
pany, that it kept her a long time out of the Church. 

Once when counselling Bessie to beware of this and other 
snares, she said : “ I will confess to you, my child, that in 
early youth, I too, like so many you see around you, was a 
gay pleasure-seeker ; but I was never quite a thoughtless 
one. No, in my giddiest days the thought of an hereafter — 
a long eternity to come when this brief life was ended, and 
all its pleasures past — often haunted my pathway, and cast 
a shadow on my brightest hoiurs ; and darker and more 
frequent the shadow fell as I grew older, and saw more and 
more of the uncertainty of life and of the reckless folly of 
those whose only treasures were here. The careless, merry 
life of the sinner was pleasing to my carnal mind ; but from 
his end, his dreadful end, I shrank back appalled. Many a 
time I resolved that such folly, such madness as his, should 
not be mine — ^that I would keep the great end in view. iUmost 
was I persuaded to be a Christian, assured that religion 
alone could really satisfy the heart, and bring peace and 
hope to a dying bed. Like one of old I cried, ‘ Let me die 
the death of the righteous ; let my last end be like his.’ 
But if I wished his end, I must live his life, and was I ready 
for that ? I was so young, the world so bright, its pleasures 
so alluring, its ' friendship and flattery so sweet. Could I 
give all up so soon ? True, some professors seemed to give 
up little or nothing. They still practiced and defended 
their former sports — went from the solemn assembly to the 


30 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ball-room or the play-house, from the Lord’s table to the 
card table, the races, and like resorts. But did this 
prove it right ? Did they honor the Master, and recom- 
mend religion there ? Did their fellow-revellers take 
knowledge of them that they had been with Jesus, and, 
seeing their light shine, glorify God ? Did they not often- 
er mock and cry, ‘What do these Christians here? Are 
these the soldiers of the cross? Is this enduring: hard- 
ness and waging a good warfare ? Is this the peculiar peo- 
ple, separate from the ivorld, living among us, hut not of us ? 
What do they more than others ? If this is denying self and 
bearing the cross, why, it is an easy thing, a light burden 
indeed.’ Yes, I reasoned, if this class of Christians are safe, 
really in the way, then the upward path is not very difficult 
after aU. But I had read long since, ‘ Strait is the gate and 
narrow is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be 
that find it.’ And though I longed to tread the broad 

fiowery road, I feared it would never lead to heaven 

StiU I passed on with the stream : mingling in gay company, 
yet not fully enjoying their mirth. I would not have con- 
science seared, but more accommodating. Why should it 
check me — for what was so fashionable and respectable, 
and I so young, and no professor either ? I did not wish 
or dare to neglect religion entirely, but neither was I willing 
to give up all for Christ, not quite convinced that such sacri- 
fice was required. 

“ Wavering, and undecided, months sped by. It was night, 
and I was preparing for another party, but with the same 
sense of unrest that had marred my happiness so often be- 
fore. It was rather late when we arrived, and almost im- 
mediately we were shown up-stairs, and ushered into the 
brightly-hghted room. The music was pealing forth in joy- 
ous strains ; a ‘ smiling crowd were met.’ But ahnost the 
first thing that struck my attention was a little coterie of old, 
gray-headed gentlemen, seated in a cosey recess, and look- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


31 


ing on the merry scene with smiling approbation. This was 
rather an unusual occurrence, and gave me a pleasant sur- 
prise. It was balm to my wounded conscience, and my 
spirits rose at once. ‘ How silly I have been ; I, a girl of 
eighteen, doubting, debating, demurring, about the propri- 
ety of a dancing party ; when here I find, fearless and un- 
concerned, these aged pilgrims, with dim eyesi, and heads 
whitened for the grave. The young may surely enjoj’^ it 
awhile in safety.’ But scarcely were these soothing ideas 
conceived in my mind, till, quicker than hghtning, — sharper 
than an arrow, — ^the sword of the Spirit pierced my ear with 
‘ The sinner an hundred years old shall be accursed ! ’ 
Trembling and amazed, I glanced around, — no angel from 
the skies, — ^no spirit from the dead appeared. No human 
voice had breathed these words ; no, only the ‘ stiU small 
voice ’ had spoken them ; but had they been uttered in 
tones of thunder, I could not have heard them more dis- 
tinctly, or been much more deeply impressed and awed. I 
looked around again. The scene was all the same, and yet 
to me how changed. Everjdhing around me seemed unbe- 
coming, irrational, reckless, for beings born to die, and yet 
to live forever, and whose brief, day of probation was pass- 
ing so swiftly by. How light and vain fell the music that a 
moment before had thrilled my heart ; how senseless, how 
mad looked the dancers, whirling like so many painted pup- 
pets through the room. How worse than senseless, how al- 
most contemptible appeared those trembling forms and 
hoary heads. What a fool had I been to place trust or 
safety in their presence. Possibly they might be pious 
men, and so experienced, so firmly fixed on the Rock of 
ages, that these waves of vanity dashed harmlessly around 
their sure foundation ; but I could not urge that plea, so 
what did their safety avail me ? But that they were flourish- 
ing Christians, bearing fruit in old age, almost ripe for the 
joys of heaven, was all uncertain, — indeed rather improb- 


32 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


able. It seemed to me far more likely that they cared for 
none of these things ; but that having made earth their God, 
from youth to age, they knew no other ; and were now 
nearing the bounds of life, still clinging to their cmmbling 
idol. As for myself, I felt that I dare halt and trifle no 
longer. I must choose whom I would serve, God or the 
world ; had not His Spirit followed me even there, and 
warned me in tones more terrible than ever before? I 
might not judge the conscience, or question the hberty of 
another ; but as to all this class of amusements I felt that 
(whatever they were, or might be, to others,) to me they 
were sin, of the earth, earthy — inconsistent, if not entirely in- 
compatible, with a stranger and a pilgrim's life. By infinite 
grace I was enabled then to decide for Christ and Heaven. 
That night my resolve was recorded on high. I left that 
baU-room never to enter another, and soon in sweet peace 
with God, and joy in believing, found bliss I had never 
known while living in pleasure." 


CHAPTEE Vn. 

The memory of the just is blessed. 

“ Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a «rown of life."' 

‘‘And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, 
neither shall there be any more pain : for the former things are passed 
away.'' 

The incidents and counsel related in the last chapter were 
never forgotten by Bessie, but often pondered over and re- 
lated in after years. Probably they impressed her all the more 
deeply from their beiii"^- among the last ever given her by 
this devoted, loving friend. For though all unknown, and 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


33 


unexpected by all, this most tender, endearing intercourse 
was soon to be interrupted ; these happy days were draw- 
ing rapidly to a close. 

Mrs. R. was now about sixty years of age ; still hale, full 
of hfe and energy, with every prospect of filling her seventy, 
or probably fourscore years, and seeing her grandchild 
grown and settled in life ; but it was not to be. This well- 
knit, vigorous frame was soon to be laid low, and seemingly 
by a singnilaiiy trifling ailment. While busied with her 
usual household cares, she was seized with a pain in her left 
foot;* only so small a part of the body; so far from the seat 
of hfe ; apparently so slight a thing, yet it was enough to 
baffle human skill. The pain constantly increased in vio- 
lence from hour to hour, till it culminated in such agony 
that the haK-frantic sufferer could not be kept on her bed, 
and scarcely in her room, so intolerable were her sufferings. 
But through mercy, the conflict, though fierce, was not long. 
Only a few hours, and ‘‘the pains, the groans, the dying 
strife ” were ended ; and the late tortured frame sank to un- 
ending repose, and the freed spirit ascended to its heav- 
enly home. A great poet tells us that — 

''A death-bed’s a detecter of the heart.” 

And many seem to consider this an infallible rule, and judge 
a person more by the last utterances of his dying hours than 
by all his former life. True, “ an abundant entrance ’’ is some- 
times granted the dying saint, when, with every sense per- 
fect, prayer and praise fall from his lips, and heaven seems 
begun below. But all this is, perhaps, quite as often with- 
held, and should not be expected, when, amid the weakness 
of expiring nature, the senses are stupefied with opiates, 
fired by stimulants or maddened with pain. Judged by the 
former standard, the death-bed of Mrs. R. was barren in- 


* The pain began, and mostly continued, only in the great toe. 
2 * 


34 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


deed, for there is no record of prayer or exhortation, of 
holy ecstasy, or even a parting blessing or farewell word to 
her darling child. It is not probable that she was at all 
aware of her situation, or knew that (for her) time was end- 
ed, till ushered into eternity. But whether conscious or not, 
she died and gave no sign.” 

But to those who for forty-two years had witnessed her 
walk with God, her love for His house and cause, her striv- 
ings against sin, her faith and good works ; to these the ev- 
idence was all-sufficient, but they found it in her life, not in 

her death With holy rites and Christian hope they 

ordered the funeral. Tenderly, reverently, they smoothed 
the shroud, and spread the winding-sheet, and bore her to 
the country church-yard, to sleep with kindred dust till the 
last, great day shall dawn. Most, if not all, of the widow’s 
near friends being dead, or far distant, the little oi*phan, 
through all these sad scenes, acted as chief mourner, as she 
truly was. And the deep, unutterable love and grief of her 
desolate heart were a more precious tribute to the dead than 
the half-hearted mourning of a whole retinue of common 
friends. 

Childish love, grief, and joy are said to be but transient ; 
gone like the dew : but this is not always the case. Bessie 
never forgot, never cifeased to love and honor this dear guard- 
ian and guide of her infancy and childhood. To the latest 
period of her own long, eventful life, she would tallc of the 
sweet, peaceful years she spent with Granny E. She dwelt 
on her piety, her love and care ; repeated her maxims, re- 
hearsed her holy counsel, and as a sacred trust, handed 
down her memory and example to children’s children. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


35 


CHAPTEE Yin. 

“ Time with its changes has over us swept, 

Blushes have brightened, tears have been wept, 

Friends have been scattered like roses in June, 

Some at the bridal, and some at the tomb.” 

Mrs. Eobinson died in 1763, leaving Bessie in her thir- 
teenth year ; and the funeral over, a new era commenced in 
her hfe at once. She had but just bidden farewell to her 
first and dearest eartlily friend ; and now the home that had 
sheltered them both so long, and been the scene of so much 
happiness, must be forsaken. Another place was provided 
among her maternal relatives, the B.’s ; but here she was 
not so happy. She always considered the new home less 
pleasant than the old ; the new grandmother less kind than 
the first had been. But this rhay have been partly fancy, or 
the result of different circumstances. No new place, how- 
ever pleasant, can be quite as dear as old, familiar scenes. 
No new friends so near as those we have always known. 
Then at Mrs. E.’s she had stood alone, without a rival in 
the widow’s heart ; while Mrs. B. had children of her own 
still with her, and many objects to claim her care besides 
the young stranger. She thought these grandparents, un- 
cles, and aunts, not only less fond of her, but also less strict 
in instructing and training her aright. But of this matter, 
and of all else pertaining to her life there, scarcely anything 
is known now, except that in the early part of her stay she was 
taken a considerable distance to some other relative’s house, to 
visit her sister Cordelia, who was four years her senior, and 
now in a swift decline. They sent her up-stairs to the sick- 
room, and when only half way up, she heard the hollow 
cough, and on entering, found the late blooming girl with at- 
tenuated form, thin, white face, transparent hands, exhausting 


36 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


hemorrhage : all the doleful tokens of sure and quick decay. 
It was a sad meeting for the young orphans, and a more sad 
parting. Bessie went weeping and heavy-hearted back to 
her home, and Delia went swiftly and surely to hers , — her 
long home. They never met again. 


Through her first years, Bessie, like her grandma K., pos- 
S2ssed a most excellent constitution ; had seldom, if ever, 
known a day’s illness up to her sixteenth year. It was about 
that time that her cousin, Mary N., after a year’s absence at 

J , returned home in perfect health, and the news of the 

arrival soon spread among the circle of her friends. She 
and Bessie were very intimate, confidential mates ; and no 
sooner had the latter heard of her return, than she deter- 
mined to go at once to see and welcome her home. It was 
in February or March, at what they called the “ breaking 
up of winter.” The ice in creeks and rivers was loosening, 
and moving off ; the heavy snows melting, and the ground 
covered everywhere with slush and water. As soon as she 
mentioned going, her aunt Susan began to object and dis- 
suade her, saying : “ The roads were in a shocking state, 
the weather quite unfit for visiting,” etc. Her uncle added 
his protest too ; assured her there was neither sense nor 
necessity in the case ; it would be a useless exposure of her 
health ; and granting no conveyance, advised her to wait for 
a better time. Bat the wilful, impulsive creature declared 
she could not wait. The roads might be no better for 
weeks. She must see dear Mary ; hear aU the news before 
it was stale ; see her new gowns and presents ; see and hear 
and talk about everything, right away. She could walk and 
pick the best road. It would not give her any cold. She 
was so hardy nothing ever harmed her, and so on. The 
wise, elderly folks shook their heads, and still dissented and 
warned; but smiling at their fears, the foolish Miss hastened 
her preparations and set forth. Her uncle N.’s house was 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


37 


three miles distant, bnt she reached it in good season, but 
wet enough to need a whole new outfit. Mary and aU were 
surprised to see her, but tendered her a hearty welcome ; 
quickly changed her cold, dripping suit for one warm and 
dry, and seated her at the hospitable board, close before the 
blazing fire. Everybody was glad and kind. There was no 
end of things to tell and show, and talk and laugh over. It 
was a delightful evening, and Bessie felt fully repaid for the 
unpleasantness of her miry, watery walk. But next morning 
she was not very well. Nor the next,. nor the next. The 
next week she was not well, nor for many weeks nor months 
did she enjoy a day of health again. And when the disease 
at length slowly wore away, and she was “ pronounced weU,” 
she found she had by no means recovered the health she 
had lost. The imprudent exposure of that one afternoon 
had injured her system permanently, and she felt its effects 
occasionally through all her after-life. 

At eighteen, or perhaps before that, she entered society, 
and being sufficiently prepossessing both in person and 
manner, was quite a favorite in her circle, and received a 
full share of its adulation. She had a small, well-formed 
figure, a fair face, with a very clear complexion, blue eyes, 
and dark auburn hair. She possessed unusual conversa- 
tional powers, with a quick wit, a sprightly manner, and 
much good humor and kindness of heart ; and all her 
charms of mind and person were enhanced by a modest, 
yet handsome and becoming style of dress. She made 
friends wherever she went, among aU ages and sexes ; and 
had many admirers. As to the latter class, she treated aU 
politely, and almost impartially. Occasionally, she rode or 
walked with one or another of them, but was specially in- 
terested in none ; and being no heartless flirt, she did not 
pretend to be. But she was not always to escape the shafts 

of the winged archer. One night at a party in E , her 

bright eyes, that took in everything, noticed standing some- 


38 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


wliat in the background, a tall, dark-cemplexioned stranger, 
who seemed only a spectator, — as he took little or no part 
in the entertainment himself, but watched from his quiet 
corner the amusements of others. His manner was grave 
and reserved, his countenance serious but kind ; his whole 
appearance manly, self-possessed, and agreeable. He dif- 
fered from all her former acquaintances, and, in short, in- 
terested her. In the course of the evening he was presented to 

her as Mr, Traulie, Paul Verne Traulie, of Y . He was 

of foreign descent,- — ^being a relative of the French exile, 
Jean J. of New York ; and though hitherto a stranger per- 
sonally, she knew him by reputation. They met frequently 
that winter, and acquaintance soon’ ripened into friend- 
ship, and friendship into love. There was contrast between 
them in almost everything, mental and personal. He tall 
and dark ; she almost childlike in form, and fair as a lily. 
He grave and thoughtful ; she all life and buoyancy. He 
quiet and reserved in manner and conversation ; she frank 
and animated. He had little talent, and less taste for society 
and its pleasures, while she excelled and delighted in both. 
Yet notwithstanding all these discrepancies, they pleased 
each other well, and were married May 10, 17 — , when 
he was twenty-eight and she twenty years of age. Neither 
had very much fortune to boast ; but they had what was 
better : energy, industry, good principles, good character, 
good connections ; the respect and good wishes of their 
ueighbors ; and tender love for each other. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Four walls to shut out the world/' 

‘‘ Here’s a home for you and I, love, only for you and i.” 

Blithe as two birds, they prepared for housekeeping, 
and took a pretty, white cottage in the vicinity. The young 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


39 


husband possessed that desideratum of the ancients, ‘‘a 
sound mind in a sound body’^; a superior education for 
the period, and a mechanical genius that enabled him to 
use a variety of tools with ease and skill. He planned many 
of his neighbors’ dwellings, and did a considerable amount 
of surveying in the county, too, off and on ; but by his reg- 
ular calling he was a cabinetmaker and carpenter, and car- 
ried on his business diligently; while the little wife, busy as 
a bee, presided over domestic affairs. Everything looked 
bright, and for awhile they were exceedingly happy. But 
within a year or two after his marriage, the husband, in all 
his youth and vigor, was stricken down by disease, and laid 
on a bed of suffering for many months. The disorder was 
of a rheumatic nature, and both severe and obstinate ; but 
through a kind providence, and careful nursing, he was 
after about a year’s confinement restored to tolerable health. 
He retmmed to his business with eagerness, anxious to in 
some measure redeem the time lost ; but his aching limbs 
warned him to desist from aU extra exertion. Every ex- 
posure was followed by an attack of his old disease ; per- 
fect robust health was gone forever ; and it was only by the 
greatest precaution he was enabled to attend to the main 
branch of his business — i. e., carpentering — with safety. 
Thus in the very beginning of their married life both found 
themselves bereft of the perfect constitutions nature had 
endowed them with ; he by over-exertion, and perhaps un- 
avoidable exposure ; but she, by mere carelessness and 

girlish folly As the years passed by, several children 

were born to them ; of which the eldest in memory of the 
early lost, and only sister, Bessie called by her name, Cor- 
delia. The second, a son, was named for her father (dead 
since her early infancy, and for her only brother, also — • 
Howland Bobinson. The young husband had desired her 
to name these first two for whom she would, and in turn 
the second son and daughter took his kindred’s names ; the 


40 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


girl being called Kosa, after liis mother ; the son Ethan, after 
his father. This third child, Eosa, dying at a year old, and 
Ethan, the fourth, when only three months of age ; — two 
other children, in after years, received the same names. 

.... There were some interesting characters in E , and 

a slight sketch from the history of one or two of them may 
begin, and end, here, too, though the sequel natiu'ally be- 
longs to a later date. 


CHAPTEE X. 

“ Sweetheart,” he cried, ** when the bugle shall sound. 

Far from thy favor thy love shall be found ; 

Everard Grey will strive bravely to make 
A name and a fame that are fair for thy sake.” 

And there were sudden partings.” 

In this neighborhood, and well known to the T.’s, lived 
two brothers with few or no near relatives, or isolated from 
them, and consequently very deeply attached to each other. 
Both were alike diligent in business, moral and upright, but 
in many ways they were quite dissimilar. Ealph was a 
studious, silent, retiring man, fond of peace and solitude — 
a man of thought, not words. George was younger, gayer, 
fond of life and action, ripe for adventure, brave and hand- 
some. 

“ Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do, the soul to dare, 

The sparkling glance soon blown to fire 
Of hasty love or headlong ire,” etc. 

This was George Lee, and Eitz James himself could 
hardly have filled the outline better. 

Naturally between this dashing Hotspur and the calm, 
sober elder brother there was not much in common except 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


41 


fraternal affection ; but a new tie now sprung up between 
them, for both fell in love about the same time, but happily 
not with the same maiden. The solemn Ralph became en- 
amoured of a piquant, coquettish damsel that he sometimes 
met in his few “ walks abroad,” and wooed and won her. 
George found his beau-ideal in a pretty wood-nymph, fair 
and shy, that he descried one happy day flitting round a 
rustic, secluded cot that stood quite alone on the outer edge 
of the forest. The childlike creature artlessly returned his 
affection, the parents sanctioned their intimacy, and though 
Annie was extremely young, scarcely sixteen, they were 
soon openly engaged. 

But in the midst of their preparations and bright dreams 
of a long and happy life together, came the news of Indian 
incursions and savage massacres along the border. The 
soldiers were called out at once, and among them George 
Lee. He was a captain, and was ordered to lead his men 
immediately to a distant point on the frontier. . . . AU was 
ready for the morning’s march, and at twilight George and 
a fellow-comrade strolled away to bid good-bye to those they 
loved in the house by the forest (the young lieutenant hav- 
ing a special friend there too, in Annie’s visitor, Abbie N.). 
It was a balmy summer’s evening, and the lovers all wan- 
dered pensively out into the moonlight, and together (yet 
almost obHvious of each other), the sad pairs, arm in arm, 
j)aced slowly up and down beneath the beeches, now paus- 
ing to carve their names on the yielding bark, now resting 
on a mossy seat, now passing slowly on ; but however en- 
gaged, still thinking of the doleful morrow, stiU repeating 
their vows of constancy over and over, and sadly lament- 
ing the fate that had so suddenly interposed to arrest all 
their plans, darken their prospects, and sever them from 
each other — ^how long, who could tell ? and where or ‘‘ lohen 
to meet again ? ” What fortitude the other maiden exhibit- 
ed is not known, but Annie was not heroic. Trembling with 


42 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


doubt and fear, her heart weighed down with a sense of 
coming evil, she could see in this no ordinary grief, no com- 
mon parting. The young captain gently strove to reassure 
and cheer her, smiled at her excessive fear, showed the ab- 
solute necessity of his absence, and tried to allay her anxi- 
ety by speaking of the probability of the campaign being 
short, and hopefully predicting a “ safe and quick return.” 

It was not easy to inspire the sad, timid girl with his own 
fearless, buoyant spirit ; but perhaps his bravery and self- 
control had some influence to cheer or calm, and enabled 
her in the end to spare him pain by following his kind ex- 
ample, and veiling the depths of feeling, for there is no tra- 
dition of any scene of agonizing grief at the last — no death- 
like swoon, no piteous moan, no wild lament. We only 
know that where long ago the moonbeams shimmered 
through the ancient wood, and the holy stars looked down, 
there these lovers met — met and parted for aye and forever. 
With the early dawn the barracks were silent and deserted. 
The march had sounded and the troops were gone. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

** This only knew, they came not.” 

** Long hath she waited, 'mid silence and fears. 

Keeping her grief ever green with her tears. 

Long may she tarry, for cold is the clay 
Fettering the form of her Everard Grey.” 

The struggle was at length ended, and the foe for that 
time driven back. The soldiers, with thinned ranks, bronzed 
and war-worn, began to gather home to gladden the hearts 
of those who had watched and prayed for their retium. 
But some came not. They were reported “ dead or miss- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


43 


ing,” and among the latter were Captain Lee, his lieuten- 
ant, and a number of his command. These were sad tidings 
for their many tender friends who had been awaiting them 
so long. Anxious and fearful, they gathered around each 
new arrival, imploring some further news of the missing, 
and yet dreading to hear, lest their worst fears should be 
realized. But httle could be learned. Some could tell 
nothing ; others knew that Captain Lee and a part of his 
men had been ordered to attack or defend some more dis- 
tant post, and conjectured that they had there been taken 
captive or slain — or possibly all was well ; they had only 
taken a more circuitous route, and would be home in time. 
But only one thing was certain: they had gone out, they had 
not returned, and more none could teU. Older and colder 
friends soon grew hopeless, but the loving maidens at Beech 
Cottage, though oppressed with doubt and gloom, stiU 
strove against their dread forebodings, and, fondly chnging 
to hope, watched day after day for their coming, or for a 
messenger, a letter, a token — ^anything, to relieve their anx- 
ious, aching hearts ; but nothing came. 

Days and weeks dragged wearily by, and stiU only tor- 
turing suspense and dark uncertainty. The sad watchers, 
with nothing certain or real to believe and rest on, were 
haunted by a thousand fears and fancies, and, led by imagi- 
nation, followed the lost ones through endless, ever-varying 
scenes. 

Sometimes they pictured them living, sometimes dead, 
calmly sleeping where unknown hands had laid them in 
honored graves. But oftener they saw the dear forms mould- 
ering where they had fallen : torn by beasts of prey or 
mutilated by savage hands — ^tossed ruthlessly into lonely 
river or stagnant pool — or, more terrible stiU, reserved to 
glut the red man’s vengeance in the slow, fiendish torture: 
suffering a hundred deaths before the agony ended at the 
burning stake. Anon fancy painted them languishing in 


44 


ROSE AND ELZ^. 


captivity, wounded, or wasting with disease, none to assuage 
their pain or cheer their heavy, home-sick hearts. But' 
haply somehow, somewhere, they might still live, and think 
of THEM. Sometime they might return! But the weeks 
passed into months, and months to years, and still they 
came not. Questioniug received no answer. Search was 
fruitless, conjecture vain ; and as the seasons came and 
went, went and came, and year rolled on year, the last 
lingering hope died out of every heaid. No tidings came, 
no eye saw them more, and the silence of death and the 
darkness of the grave settled over their fate 

Nearly sixty years had passed away. A new generation 

tilled the farms and gathered around the firesides of E . 

Many of the older settlers had died ; others had removed 
to distant parts, and few remained who remembered George 
Lee and his ill-starred band. But one kind, true friend 
had never forgotten him, never. 

On the grassy slope of a rising ground, embowered in or- 
chards, surrounded by fields and meadows, stood a pleasant 
old-fashioned mansion, the central figure of this goodly 
scene of peace and plenty and rural beauty. Here, in the 
midst of his fair possessions, Ralph Lee, wan and feeble, lay 
in his last illness. The busy, nervous hands that had 
wrought the charm, changed the desert to a lovely home, 
made the wilderness blossom as the rose, lay withered and 
idle. The strong man, rejoicing in his youth, had changed 
in these passing years to hoary age. The happy bridegroom, 
buoyant with hope and vigor, life just begun, the race all 
before him, the future a mystic scroll, was now the weary, 

travel- worn ” pilgrim, — time’s pleasures past, its duties 
done, only waiting the last falling sands, and the Master’s 
call. 

But through all these changing years Ralph had fondly 
remembered his brother, repeated his sad story to new gen- 
erations, and sadly mused and sighed over his untimely, 
mysterious fate. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


45 


Bodily strength was well-nigh spent, life was daily ebbing 
away, but the mind was still clear ; and, raised in his bed, 
supported by pillows, he sometimes beguiled the painful 
hours by reading. One day while thus occupied, the paper 
dropped from his trembling hands, and a look of agon}’' 
swept over the white face. His daughter, alarmed, ran to 
his side. His palsied tongue refused explanation or utter- 
ance, but Ms quaking finger pointed to a short article, 
headed: 

" An Old-Time Mysteky Explained.” — There it ivas, indeed ! 
The long-looked-for message, delayed through a lifetime, had. 
come at its voiy close. The long silence was broken, the 
veil lifted, the fate of the lost ones disclosed. In a few 
graphic words the bygone scene was sketched. There was 
the march from home. ‘‘ The destination : the deep, shaggy 
wood that re-echoed with the fray, and drank the life-blood; 
the overwhelming number of the enemy ; retreat impossible ; 
the combat begun! the devoted band fights bravely, but 
rapidly grows less and less ; Captain Lee cheering on his 
men, and leading the attack with desperate valor, falls mor- 
tally wounded ; the foes msh on him like savage beasts, 
hack the quivering fiesh from his bones 1 cut him limb from 
limb! The few scattered soldiers remaining are quickly 
overpowered and dispatched. All perished, and I alone es- 
caped to teU the tale.” 

Such, in substance, was the account given by the paper 
which the editor affii’med he had received from an old sol- 
dier, a respectable citizen of that community, and this was 
Mark J.,* the last link in that long-lost band. 


* This sequel, given in the green old age of the narrator, though 
brief, gave some explanation of the causes that had prevented his re- 
turn home ; some mention of plans that failed (after escaping from 
the Indians), of messages that miscarried, etc:; but concerning these 
points, the details have not been preserved, and consequently can not 
be related here. 


46 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEE Xn. 

“ Tis said that first and early love outlives all other dreams.” 

There was one other friend besides the aged brother who 
had not forgotten the past. One more who remembered 
George Lee, even long after Ralph had gone frqpi earth, and 
that was (who else could it be ?) constant Annie, once his 
affianced bride. 

After the long season of watching and waiting, agonizing 
suspense and uncertainty, bitter mourning over expectations 
unreahzed, and hopes that ended in despair ; after all this, 
Annie had grown outwardly calm, and seemingly resigned 
to the “ lot that had fallen ” on her. But it was only seem- 
ing, for her fondest thoughts still hovered round her lost 
idol. And when, in after years, she at lengih became the 
wife of another, she gave him duty, reverence, esteem, with 
her hand, but not her best affections. They were already 
given beyond recall ; given to the brave young soldier who 
long ago had 

“ Lived for her love, for his country had died.” 

But her love and her loss were sacred subjects ; maiden 
dehcacy had prevented their ever dwelling much on her 
tongue, and after her marriage- they were by tacit consent 
dropped wholly from conversation, and the cherished name 
was heard no more. They removed to a far distant place, 
where in time a large family gathered round them, and the 
usual vicissitudes of life attended them. Here, after many 
well-spent years, the husband died ; but Annie lingered long 
and late till well-nigh a century was told. 


When in extreme old age, conventional rules began to 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


47 


lose their power and were little heeded, and as the reserve 
of a lifetime melted away, the buried past and the near fu- 
ture were both unsealed. Swiftly as uncaged birds thought 
flew forward to untried worlds or backward to early scenes 
and centered there. Busy middle age crowded with plans, 
cares, and anxieties, filled with good and ill, she seldom 
dwelt on, or often remembered. The present with its weak- 
ness, pain, and decrepitude she ignored, or passed by with 
little comment. 

These seasons seemed not life to her now, but unreal, 
“ flat and unprofitable.” Acquaintances were kind; her chil- 
dren, down to the third generation, who surrounded and 
served her, were dutiful, but none were like the friends she 
had once known. To one so amiable and pious, “ Age was 
(not) dark and unlovely ” : but she had so little in common 
with these new actors that flitted around her, that she was often 
lonely and alone, though in a crowd”; and having little 
part in the real world, led by faith or memory, dwelt and 
found solace and companionship in one unseen. And what 
she hoped and foresaw of the joys of the future life, and 
knew and remembered of the far distant past, she freely 
portrayed for others, and in colors so vivid that they par- 
took of her enthusiasm and almost saw with her eyes. 

Oftenest she dwelt in the past, the storied past, and 
almost every scene was from her early spring-time: the con- 
nections, the joys, the dear friendships of her youth ; life 

in beautififl E the happy days in far-off Y , etc. 

But above all else, fairer, brighter than aught beside, ap- 
peared the romance of that blissful time, the love that had 
glorified one brief, sweet period of her life, and cast a pure 
halo over all her succeeding years. 

George Lee, the long unspoken name, became a house- 
hold word. The long-lost hero of her girlhood’s dreams was 
once more exalted to his ancient state, and fondly invested 
with every manly charm and virtue. He was young, hand- 


48 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


some, witty, wise, brave, patriotic. He was noble-hearted, 
the best of the good, the tenderest of the true. To her he was 
no unseen shade or empty name, but a gallant soldier, 
armed for the war; a loyal lover, bidding his last adieu. 
This long-past meeting and parting were as yesterday to her, 
and she painted it to the hfe. They saw it aU : the cottage 
by the wood, the moonbeams flooding all with their silvery 
light ; the quiet, watching stars ; the graceful beeches ; the 
mossy seat. They felt the calm hush of the summer eve, and 
heard the low murmur of the lovers’ vows, and the breeze 
softly sighing through the trees. And yet this scene, so 
fresh, so near, so real, had passed so far away, so long ago ! 
Almost eighty years had rolled by since these youthful lovers 
clasped the parting hand and breathed the last farewell. 
The shght, fairy-hke maiden of sixteen had passed on to 
womanhood, to middle hfe, to ‘‘ faded, anxious maternity,” to 
feeble, helpless age, bending under the burden of almost five- 
score years, and tottering on the verge of the grave. Her 
true knight had long since disappeared from mortal sight, 
long since moldered back to dust. Change was everywhere. 
Other rulers, other laws, other country, other home and 
friends. Change! endless change! But to Annie it mat- 
tered not. Through all change of time and place, her faith- 
ful heart still turned to her early love. She had loved him 
once, she loved him always, present and absent, in youth, in 
age, in life, in death. 

So old, so old, and gray ; 

Yet the same sweet dream is in her heart, forever and for aye : 

O sweet and sad the pain, of the love that will not wane, 

So sweet, because so true ; so sad, because so min : 

Ah, well, we can not know, maybe ’twas better so. 

Then let the bright dream go. 

Maybe, maybe, Twas better so” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


49 


CHAPTEK Xm. 

'‘Wars, and rumors of wars.” 

“ Groing further and faring worse.” 

T. and. family stiU continued where they had first 
commenced housekeeping, in the white house on the road 

to T The children, Cordelia and Kowland, were bright 

and pretty, fond of each other, and as strong and healthy as 
most children, notwithstanding Dr. L.’s prediction. He had 
said to Bessie when Delia was bom, '' Mrs. T., if you nurse 
this child yourself, you may probably become healthy again, 
but the babe will gradually become a weakling and die. If 
you do not nurse it, you will die and leave it.” .... But, 
so far, both mother and child were living, and in tolerable 
health. 

Almost ever since their marriage there had been appre- 
hensions of war with the mother country ; but as there had 
been ill-feeling and excitement going on for many years be- 
tween the 'colonies and England, most supposed that it 
would proceed no further in the future than it had in the 
past Bessie was among the latter, and timid and trembling 
at the thought of carnage, earnestly hoped for peace during 
her day, but she was doomed to disappointment. The Bevo- 
lutionary struggle began, and everywhere in her own State, 
county, and district, as well as elsewhere, hosts of men were 
seen forsaking the farm, the shop, all peaceful callings, and 
“swiftly forming into ranks of war.” “The Jerseys” (says 
the historian) “ were for some time completely overrun with 
the victorious armies of the English, while constant disaster 
awaited the American forces.” .... Again : “ The invaders 
now thought the contest virtually ended ; for the colonists, 
impoverished and discouraged, had been obliged to save 
3 


50 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


themselves by flight. The last remnant of their little army 
had been routed and, amidst the storms of winter, forced to 
retreat across the Delaware.” .... The troops of both 

paiiies often passed along the road to T and Bessie, 

watching from her window, saw, with grief and- alarm, the 
vast difference in their apj^ointments. The English and 
Hessians, full fed, warmly clad, gaily uniformed, proud and 
scornful ; while the American troops went by ragged, shiver- 
ing, hungry, and ofttimes staining the snow with blood from 
their shoeless feet. Their forlorn, most pitiful condition 
made her tender heart ache for their sufferings, and tremble 
for her country. During the “ immortal ’76 and ’77 (or a 
great part of them) the war raged through the Jerseys, and 
many acts of wanton mischief and cruelty were also perpe- 
trated by the British on private persons and property.” 

But occasionally there was some little episode like the 
following, that caused even Bessie to laugh, in spite of the 
terrors of those gloomy days. The Hessian troops had 
many of their women accompanying them, who were quite 
as impudent as themselves, if not so dangerous. And one 
hot summer’s day, a body of these, and also some English 

infantry, was marching slowly along the road through E 

at a short distance from the T.’s home, but dii*ectly by that 
of their cousin Launce. No one was at home but his wife 
Kuth, and she, engaged in her own affairs, paid little heed to 
the soldiers, as no very great enormity had as yet been com- 
mitted by them in that vicinity, and the frequency of their 
appearance had destroyed the novelty. All passed quietly 
by. Then came a company of women straggling lazily 
along, seemingly without order, aim, or ambition. They too 
passed soberly by, aU but the last one. She halted a mo- 
ment, and then sauntering carelessly up to the open door, 
looked in. Seeing only one of her own sex on guard, she 
confidently entered, and without deigning any kind of a sal- 
utation to the mistress, began to look about the house for 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


51 


something convenient to lay her thievish hands on. A short 
time before the frau’s entrance, Kuth had removed a large 
baking of light bread from the clay oven (beside the chim- 
ney), and laid it on the shelf near by, covering it with a large 
piece of snowy linen, while it cooled and softened. It sent 
forth a pleasant, appetizing order through all the kitchen 
that was not lost on the stranger. She peered curiously un- 
der the cover ; the sweet, fresh country rolls, so different 
from the dry army rations, suited her precisely. Quickly 
whisking off the cloth, she spread it on the floor, and began 
transferring loaf after loaf to its ample folds, till not one re- 
mained, not even a crust for the discomfited baker’s dinner. 
Then dexterously tying the corners together, she raised the 
huge, steaming bundle to her brawny shoulders, and coolly 
started for the door. 

The Jersey dame had all the while looked on the nefarious 
proceeding speechless and immovable, watching her hard 
forenoon’s labor and week’s provision changing owners so 
suddenly : and now, patience quite exhausted, she deter- 
mined, without waiting for orders, to attack this wing of the 
army herself, and have a small battle on her own account, 
unless the bread was restored peaceably. Like a modern 
Amazon she charged on the foe, who was terribly amazed and 
enraged at this piece of Yankee interference, and the battle 
raged pretty fiercely, for the Hessian was broad and strong, 
and the Yankee wiry, brave, and resolute. Justly indignant, 
she seized hold of the bundle, but the frau grabbed it the 
tighter, and scowled and stamped ; and then one slapped 
and the other slapped ; but despite Dutch cuffs and curses, 
victory at length crowned the Jersey standard. The loaves 
were recaptured, and returned to their place without the 
loss of one, and the enemy, empty-handed, dishevelled, and 
tear-stained, retreated with dispatch, and went bawling 
after her friends. 

About, or near this time, Mr. T. left New Jersey and re- 


52 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


moved to H Co., Ya., and settled on the south branch 

of the Potomac, some four miles from the village of E . 

The last night of their journey was spent with Mr. L., an 
old friend of the family, and next morning, after partaking 
of a hospitable breakfast, they made an early start, that they 
might reach their destination and get settled in their new 
quarters before night. Their hostess, in name and character 
a Martha, volunteered to accompany and assist them ; and it 
was very fortunate she did, for living as they had, among 
those old Jersey towns, and so near the capital, they had al- 
ways been accustomed to well-built, pleasant, roomy dwell- 
ings, and much refinement in dress, manners, and every- 
thing; but here in H they were destined to find another 

state of things altogether. The new place had probably 
been engaged by proxy, for when they arrived they found 
it a miserable, forlorn-looking log-house with only one 
room, and a shed kitchen with a leaky, clapboard roof, and 
without a floor. Bessie had never seen such a place since 
she went sight-seeing in childhood,” and was wholly un- 
prepared for so dismal a prospect. She was in feeble health 
too, and being weak and travel-worn, her usual good sense 
failed her, and with fortitude quite overcome, she sat down 
and cried helplessly. Good cousin Maiiha looked on this 
phase of the case with some surprise, not to say contempt, 
“ Why, what's this for ? ” she exclaimed. “ Oh, you dainty Jer- 
sey women are not worth a penny." And, seizing the broom, 
she swept with a will, and soon had the poor floor presenta- 
ble ; kindled a bright Are in the wide hearth, and then 
bustled out to the wagon and assisted in bringing in and 
arranging the furniture ; beat up the beds, and covered 
them smoothly with bright patchwork spreads ; drew the 
table before the clean, glowing hearth, lighted a candle, laid 
the cloth, and spread the evening meal. The whole place 
was transformed, and the sad, homesick stranger looking on 
the cheerful, home-like scene, felt the worth of energy, and 
fully acknowledged the charm so kindly and deftly wrought. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


53 


Cousin Martlia L. was soon obliged to return home, but 
other neighbors began to call in good season, and on longer 
acquaintance they found them generally kind ; some were 
wealthy, a very few cultured ; but many, or most of them, were 
exceedingly rude and uncultivated, both in appearance and 
manner, as well as mind. Their costumes, even on gala 
days, were so grotesque and uncouth, and their very names 
so odd and outlandish, that Bessie could scarcely receive 
introductions to seme of them with proper gravity. Ger- 
mans formed a considerable part of the population, and to 
this fact was attributable many of the singular names and 
customs. Among the latter were women laboring in the 
field: reaping, mowing, stacking, etc. And this was not re- 
stricted to the lower or poorer classes at all, for of a clear 
summer morning, Bessie sometimes saw the minister and 
his DAUGHTEB, eacli armed with a cradle or reaping-hook, rid- 
ing briskly by, going to assist some friend in wheat harvest. 
All this was rather disagreeable to the new family, and espe- 
cially to the pretty wife. It was not pleasant to be called or 
thought idle and inefficient, yet she had neither strength nor 
inclination for field work, and at the barbarous style of dress 
her taste revolted. 

Still, out of respect for public opinion, she modified her 
own style considerably ; and though she had never been 
extravagant at all, and now dressed more plainly than she 
had ever thought of doing before ; yet after all, there was 
not a little good-natured gossip about the “finikin ways 
and fine feathers of that Jersey woman.” 

The war was still progressing ; sometimes well, some- 
times ill, very often the latter ; they saw less of it at the new 
place, though they felt it more, for here Mr. T. was 
drafted.* He waited on the authorities at the appointed 


* The notes say he was twice drafted, but give no details of the 
second occasion. 


54 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


time, and gave them a truthful statement of his case. 
“That for several years he had not been able to endure 
much exposure without its being followed by severe and 
lingering illness ; and in case he entered the army, he would 
almost immediately be on the sick list, and lay for months 
in the hospital, only a trouble and expense, instead of a help 
to the country.” The officers accepted the account readily, 
but Major O., a man of wealth and influence in the district, 
sneered at the honest, straightforward story, and laughed 
at their credulity. “ Nothing ails him ; put him into the 
ranks,” he said. The officer asked him if he “ would take 
an oath that Paul T. was able to be^r a campaign ? ” He 
answered ‘ ■ Yes ” — and he did so at once. There was now 
no alternative but to hire and send some one in his place, 
for vivid recollections of how very often even slight expos- 
ure had filled him with pain, and laid him helplessly by, 
forbade the idea of attempting the service himself. So a 
substitute was found, and equipped with new clothes, blan- 
kets, etc., out of the house. But the wherewithal to pay 
him was not secured without great difficulty, and even the 
selling or pawning of some of his most valued and neces- 
sary property, for the times were hard, and cash almost im- 
possible to obtain. Meanwhile the haughty Dives, Major O., 
had returned to his pleasant mansion — ^to glory in his riches 
— “eat, drink, and be merry”; little knowing, less heeding, 
how much the poor, sickly strangers were perplexed and 
distressed.* .... The first year the T.’s spent in the 
old house by the Potomac was one of uncommon hard- 
ship. The previous season had been one of great drought, 
and early frosts ; causing extreme scarcity. The i^oor 
brutes suffered, and were driven to seek unheard-of for- 


* No reason for this injustice was ever known ; unless it were that 
the new neighbor had never flattered, or paid special court to this 
arrogant county magnate. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


55 


age to supply the lack of natural food ; while some of their 
owners were reduced to almost equal straits. 

There is a small plant in many places, that appears among 
the first green things in spring ; especially in old clearings 
and open woods. It comes with the first wild flow- 
ers ; and it, anemones, forget-me-nots, violets, and other 
early growths may all be found gTowing together, and 
flourishing best in the soft, dark loam around old mossy 
stumps, and fallen, crumbling timber. This little, pale, and 
(at this season) two-lemed plant was very abundant in a 
large clearing on the farm next the T.’s ; and many a time 
during that lovely yet dreary May, Bessie saw Dick H^s- 
see, a farm-hand who lived near it, come out with his lean 
horse and shaky plough, and draw a few furrows through 
it from end to end, then hasten away to some other busi- 
ness ; while his wife and children, big and little, each with 
some small vessel, would follow the furrows up and down, 
and linger a long time over each one. 

Though in sight it was at some distance, and she could 
not imagine what this family occupation was. But the first 
time Becky Hessee came over, it was made clear by her re- 
marking, “ I reckon your been wonderin’ what we was doin’ 
in the cl’arin’, haven’t you. Miss T. ? ” The latter confessing 
that she had, Becky continued : “ Well, last year was a 
powerful poor one for raisin’ anything ; or leastways it 
was here ; but Dick and me have a mind to spin our prov- 
inder out as long as possible ; won’t buy tiU we can’t liel^^ 
it — and that’s what took us aU out to the cl’arin’.” “Well, 
but you said you were not after greens,” returned Bessie ; 
“ and nothing else has grown for you to gather yet.” “ Oh, 
yes,” said Becky, “there has something growed, too ; — -the 
ground-peas is just about right. What Dick ploughs up 
before he goes to his work, keeps the children and me busy 
most of the day. We get a right smart mess every day, and 
their a’most as good as some potaters are. It’s awful slow 


56 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


work tlio’, for their not bigger than shot — much, and hardly 
ever but one on a stalk ; but poor folk must do as they can, 
and we ain’t the only ones that’s glad to dig and eat ’em this 
year.” Bessie now discovered that the tiny root her little 
ones sometimes gathered in their play, and by extra efforts 
even got a spoonful or two of at once, for the doll’s table, 
was the same edible that this poor family and others were 
delving for, not in play, but sober earnest, in their struggle 
to keep soul and body together. Good dame Hessee, with- 
out intending it, had by her artless story depressed her new 
neighbors’ spirits considerably, and they were not very 
buoyant before. This was the nearest approach she had 
ever seen to famine ; and ‘added to the unkindness of Major 
O., — the expense and anxiety attending the procuring of a 
substitute, — the dehcate health of both herself and husband, 
— and other minor matters, the prospect was far from flat- 
tering 

There were several Indian families in the woods around 
that were nowise afraid of their more civilized neighbors, 
but visited the villages and farm-houses when they listed. 
They frequently called on Bessie, laid their red pappooses 
in her cradle (but first removed the pillow, explaining that 
“ Indians must grow straight ”), scattered their baskets and 
bead-work over her floor, roasted their game in her fire, and 
made themselves quite at home. One old squaw often stopped 
after visiting her rabbit-traps, and tarried long enough to 
roast one. This she did by merely thrusting it into the hot 
ashes and embers without removing outside or inside at 
all ; and all Bessie’s coaxing and scolding to make her dress 
it decently, only elicited a guttural laugh, and a kind of in- 
articulate mumbling sound, expressive of her supreme satis- 
faction mth it as it was. 

Occasionally the squaws stayed at home, and the children 
came instead. She liked these better, and often prex)ared 
them a simple repast of which they were extremely fond. Fill- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


57 


ing a large pewter basin with bonny-clabber, she would stir in 
a quantity of sugar, and perhaps a pinch of spice-; then plac- 
ing it in the middle of the kitchen floor, and giving each a 
spoon, they would all drop down in a circle round the feast, 
and partake with a relish and delight that were enjoyable to 
see. 

The visits of the adults were less agreeable to their white 
neighbors than those of the children ; in fact, positively dis- 
agreeable. But they thought it wiser to bear some annoy- 
ance than to offend those who were disposed to be friendly, 
for many were not. Several times the alarm was given that 
they were already on the war-path, bearing fast down on 

H , and warning issued for all to fly to the fort. Bessie’s 

youngest child was only two or three years old, and rejoiced 
in a pair of powerful lungs ; but so well had he become ac- 
customed to the dangers surrounding them, that they had 
only to whisper the dreaded, oft-heard sentence : “ Hush, 
HUSH, Injuns coming ! ” and the loudest crying, or most up- 
roarious play would cease in a moment, and he would re- 
main silent as a statue till safe within the fortress. 


CHAPTEK XIV. 

“ Now, you see it do take all sorts o’ folks to make a world, and 
I’m mighty glad I ain’t none o’ them.” 

At this'place, as at all others, people rich and poor had their 
foibles and idiosyncrasies ; and mistress and maid some- 
times complained of each other as they do now. A neighbor 
of Bessie’s, Mrs. Danna, had secured excellent help ; for a 
nice, capable, cheerful girl was PoUy Jones, the maid-of-all- 
work. Both parties were satisfied, and the work went on 
briskly. But no sooner was the dairy work given entirely 
3 * 


58 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


into her hands than careful Mrs. D. observed a large de- 
crease in the quantity of milk ; but thinking there might 
have been an accident, the cows a little unruly with a 
stranger, or something of that kind, she said nothing. But 
when the same thing occurred three or four times in succes- 
sion, she thought it time to institute inquiries. 

She remarked quietly, one evening, as the help was 
straining and setting the pans in place : “Polly, have the 
cattle been changed to worse pasture ? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” replied that damsel. “ They’re where they 
was.” 

“Do any of the cows seem ailing?” 

“ Oh, no ; they’re all lively as kittens, ma’am.” 

“Likely you find some of them a little cross, don’t you — 
disposed to run about, overturn the pail, etc. ? ” 

“ No, ma’am ; they’re all very quiet and peaceable-like.” 

“ Well, then, if everything is going on as it should, why 
are we getting so much less milk than before ? ” 

Polly began to look uneasy. 

“ Don’t you think there is nearly a third less than we 
ought to have ? ” 

Polly, with a troubled look, confessed it did appear 
“ rather short measure.” 

“ And, as you have been attending to this matter, proba- 
bly you can explain it. Give me some reason, if you can, 
now.” 

“ Why,” answered the girl, demurely, “ I didn’t milk the 
black cow to-night.” 

“ Not milk Blackie ? Why, Polly Jones ! Did* you not 
milk her this morning ? ” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“ Nor last evening ? ” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Nor yesterday morning either ? ” 

“No, ma’am.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


50 


And, pray, why do you act so ? What does it all mean, 
miss?” 

“ I don’t like to milk her, that’s all,” replied the young 
woman, composedly. 

‘‘But why? She is gentle and easy.” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; as good as any.” 

“ Get the pail — get both pails — and milk her at once ! 
Stop! Just reach my sunbonnet and. I will go with you.” 

They went, and after some considerable effort the cow 
was relieved of her unwonted burden, and walked lightly 
and gladly away to the green pasture. 

Next morning the help was bright and early at her out- 
door work, and as she went by to the spring-house, Mrs. 
D., standing on the porch, called out, jestingly : 

“ Polly, did you milk the black cow ? ” And to her amaze- 
ment, the girl serenely answered : 

“ No, ma’am.” 

Polly ! what does possess you? Run and milk her, 
quick ! There ! don’t wait to strain any. Take this pail, 
and hurry, or Jack will have them started to the field.” 

That evening the same question was put and received the 
same reply. 

Mrs. D. began to lose all patience, and lectured her “ in 
good set terms but it was of no use. Scolding, coaxing, 
shaming, were quite thrown away. Polly was kind, cheer- 
ful, respectful, and truthful, but she had her fixed, unaltera- 
ble laws, and one of them was that of her own will. She 
would never milk the black cow, and she never did. 

During the whole term of her stay, as regularly as the 
morning and evening of each day came, Mrs. D. put the 
stereotyped question, “Polly, did you milk the black cow 
this time ? If not, go and do it.” And just as regularly 
that odd genius as often as interrogated, answered naively 
and briefly : 

“ No, ma’am, I didn’t milk her, but I will.” 


60 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Mrs. S., another friend of Bessie’s, lived in a long, gray, 
wooden house, that stood in a meadow under a group of 
forest trees, two gum, one oak, one walnut. She had deli- 
cate health, and a singularly nervous, sensitive organization, 
causing her to sicken and shrink with pain from everything 
repulsive. 

Her help, too, was nothing to boast of. True, she did 
not leave one of the cows, like Polly Jones ; nor break and 
waste, like Mrs. Smith’s girl ; nor slight the cooking or 
house-cleaning, like Mrs. E.’s ; but then, like most folks, 
she had faults enough of other kinds. She was ill-trained, 
untruthful, capricious; and Mrs. S. disliked having the chil- 
dren with her so much, but could not well prevent it. Sal- 
lie petted them unduly, but not so much from fondness as 
selfishness : that she might have them at her beck, and 
ready to act as tools in forwarding little designs of her own. 
Two or three young men boarded in the family — gay, hand- 
some fellows, with whom Sallie was often at feud, and on 
whom she loved to revenge herself by tricks as amusing to 
her as they were provoking to them. 

One day, after a passage-at-arms with one or all of them, 
she summoned her small coadjutors, Laura and Lena, to a 
special conclave. Two or three days previous several half- 
grown fowls had suddenly deceased, and with much cere- 
mony (and by SaUie’s direction) the childi’en had buried 
them side by side. She now desired them to revisit this 
cemetery and disinter a pair of them — one apiece— for Mr. 
Will and Mr. Charlie ; and they would smuggle them up- 
stairs, and slip one under each gentleman's holster. And when 
those charming youths began to ‘‘smell a rat no, a 
chicken, — and searched out, and dragged their strange bed- 
fellows to light — O then ! O then 1 And while imagining 
her astonished victims stamping and dashing around the 
room in their night-caps, roaring out exclamations of wrath 
and disgust, the imp of mischief gleefully clapped her 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


G1 


hands, and chuckled with delight. The little innocents, 
never dreaming of refusing or gainsaying, were off directly ; 
and soon with soiled frocks, and chubby hands bemired, 
rushed in at the back-door, exclaiming triumphantly, “ Here 
they are, Sallie !” 

But at that moment, the pale, nervous lady, mamma, en- 
tered ; and seeing her cherubs’ dresses in such plight- • 
and instead of dolls, or hands full of flowers, each holding 
the remains of a forlorn, bedraggled chicken-cock, in the 
midst of her tidy kitchen : she started back in surprise, and 
cried out in dismay : Children ! what are you about ? 
What are you doing f Take the vile things out quick. Begone 
with them. Fling the^n away off ! Never touch them again.'’ 

The little ones, frightened and abashed, tried to explain 
that “Sallie sent ’em. Sallie wanted the old chicks for 
Will and Charlie,” etc. But that treacherous jade, flnding 
that her nice plan had “ ganged aglee,” coolly deserted her 
allies, bade them “go throw them away,” and loftily 
ignored the whole affair. Mrs. Z. said she did not generally 
keep regular help ; for occasional and outside workers gave 
her trouble enough. Old Dorothy H. did her knitting, and 
charged a round sum for it too. Once when she fetched 
home a pair of long, woollen hose, and named the price, the 
owner ventured to demur and remonstrate ; saying “ she 
could almost buy them from the store for that sum,” etc. 
The old dame listened without a word ; then rising, stalked 
slowly out into the orchard (carrying the work with her), 
and seated herself under a tree. Mrs. Z. did not follow 
her, — ^but smiling to herself, went on with her sewing ; 
thinking, ‘‘ Aunty will come to reason, and come in presently ; 
and then we will compromise the matter.” In an hour or 
two, she did come ; and walking gravely up to her em- 
ployer, presented her,^7?o^ with the stockings, — but with 
two large, compact, gray balls, and simply remarking, 
“There’s your yarn,” was gone. For an instant Mrs. Z. 


62 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


was puzzled, but next moment saw it all. The whimsical 
old lady, rather than lower her price, or even contend about 
it, had sat in the shade and ramled out emry stitch, and 
carefully rewound the yarn. On the other hand, many of 
the employes told of cross, mean, cruel employers ; and 
muttered about under-pay and overwork ; and as wealth 
does not make people any better, or less exacting, doubt- 
less it was often correct. As to overwork, many of the 
neighbors whispered, and shook their heads, when so many 
poor people who had worked for the proud Oirtons, lost 
their health, and gradually pined away ; several dying soon 
after their term of sersdce there ended. 

Busy, bustling, and with a general talent for foreseeing, 
overseeing, “ and knowing all things,” was our next charac- 
ter — ^Mrs. Grimes. 

Whoever else was complained of, out of credit, or lacking 
friends, there was one person who was universally popular 
with every class, and this was Peggy Grimes. She lived in 
a low, weather-beaten house on the banks of Gadd’s Creek, 
at the foot of a high hill, covered with oak and hickory, and 
abounding with small game. Her home, though rude, was 
comfortable, weU fiUed, and neatly kept within and without, 
everything showing thrift and good management. She had 
no wealth or wealthy friends to recommend her; no educa- 
tion, style, or accomplishments ; nothing but herself, homely 
and old-fashioned as she was ; yet she had such sound sens 3 
and judgment, so much practical knowledge, energy, and in- 
dependence, that she was in constant demand, and wher- 
ever she went every one rehed on her, and she naturally 
took the lead. 

One or two envious souls hinted that ‘‘ Peggy was a little 
too opinionated and forth-putting ; rather too apt to speak 
oracularly, and lay down the law.” No doubt there was 
some truth in this idea, yet she was so competent to do so, 
and so good-humored and amusing with it, that few or none 
were aggrieved. She delighted in bustle and preparation, 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


63 


and not a merry-making conld be held in the neighborhood, 
from a husking to a wedding, but Peggy was sent for to 
assist and advise ; and wherever the business was progress- 
ing best and fastest, there was she. She, was a famous 
nurse and doctor, too, and all the teas, tinctures, balsams, 
and other cures in creation seemed to be at her “fingers’ 
ends,” and none could prepare and administer them with 
skill and tact hke hers. Her very presence was inspiring ; 
only to see her hale, active form moving briskly around, and 
her cheerful countenance so full of hope and sunshine, did 
good like a medicine. The people declared they could not 
hve without Mrs. Grimes, for not a man, woman, child, or 
even a beast could be sick or wounded, without her being 
summoned ; and for everything special in health and sick- 
ness, life and death, she was indispensable. In many cases 
no other doctor was sent for, and when there was, Mrs. 
G. always shared his work, his credit, and often his fee. 
But one time, in the midst of her good works, everything 
seemed to conspire against her peace, and quite a series of 
small disasters fell on her head. She was as usual attend- 
ing on some sick person, and when she found the symptoms 
all favorable, determined to return home. The family .op- 
posed it ; told her it was too late, and being cloudy, it would 
soon be very dark ; there was a storm rising, too, etc. But 
she would not be persuaded, — said “ the. storm was not so 
very near; the distance was not great across the fields”: 
and assuring them that “she would get along very well 
and was not a particle afraid,” set out bravely. But for 
once, her good judgment was at fault. Nothing turned out 
as she had expected. The clouds grew thicker and blacker 
so rapidly, that before half the distance was passed, it was 
as dark as pitch. Consequently it was not very long, till by 
coming in contact with some object that she knew was not in 
the way, she discovered that she was out of it, and was wan- 
dering she knew not where. 


64 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


Meantime the storm that all the while had been threaten- 
ing and drawing nearer, now burst forth in all its fury. 
The thunder crashed, the wind roared, the hail pelted, the 
rain fell in torrents. There was no shelter anywhere ; it 
would never answer to stand still in the tempest ; all she 
could do was to battle with it boldly, her way through 
the darkness and flounder on. 

Self-conceit was at a low ebb now. Forty times she ex- 
claimed against her folly, and wished she had for once taken 
advice herself. By and by she again found the path, and 
with strength well-nigh exhausted, at last reached the large 
gate that led into her own orchard, and with renewed hope 
stepped on to her own ground. But the gate was somewhat 
crippled, and at that moment a fierce gust of wind tore it 
from its fastenings, and whirled it to the ground, carrying 
its owner with it, and under it. This was a feather too 
much, and poor Peggy groaned aloud, and gave up all for 
lost. 

And there she lay, prone in the mud, weary and bruised, 
wet to the skin, the gate pressing her down like a mighty 
incubus, and the careless, wind and rain holding revel above 
the scene. Utterly worn out and despairing, she almost 
concluded that the fates or the witches must be against her 
reaching home that night, and it was useless to struggle 
longer. She would not try to get on till morning, — if then, 

in fact, she did not feel as if she could ever rise again 

But by and by a spark of the old courage and resolution be- 
gan to revive again. It would be too weak to succumb 
now, when victory was so near, and this pitiful languor and 
despondency were altogether foreign to her character, and 
unworthy of it. And what a plight was this for her, the 
strong-minded, strong-nerved, self-complacent, self-reliant 
leader. What a figure the valiant Great Medicine did cut, 
lying helpless and bedrenched under an old gate, flattened 
out in the mire like a dead toad ! 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


65 


It was too ridiculous a picture, too ignominious a predic- 
ament, and Peggy laughed in spite of her aching bones, and 
began to labor and strive in earnest to free herself from the 
heavy gate. She was no Samson in strength, but after 
many painful efforts she succeeded, and, stiff and sore, 
scrambled to her feet ; groped as best she could through 
the apple-trees, brambles, and running briers, and was soon 
fumbhng for the latch at her own door. There was a large 
bed of glowing embers in one end of the wide fireplace, and 
as soon as she could hurry on a warm, dry suit, she made 
up a good bed on the floor, and lay down with her feet close 
to the fire, trusting in this way to obviate any ill results 
from her unwonted exposure. Like some storm-beaten 
mariner, who, after untold hardships and dangers, at length 
guides his shattered bark into some calm, sheltered haven, 
where all is safety and peace, so Peggy, rejoicing that at 
last all the ills were over, all the good to come ; and, thinking 
’svith new gratitude of the blessings of her pleasant home, 
cuddled still closer to her downy bed, and betook herself to 
sweet repose. But hapless wight,” her misadventures were 
not yet ended. Scarcely had kind Morpheus sealed her 
weary eyes, till she was aroused again. Her ear had caught 
the echo of a singular sound. She held her breath to listen. 
Grimes was absent. There was nothing that had life about 
the house but herself, and yet she distinctly heard a strange 
kind of shuffling, shding motion, as of some person or thing 
moving very slowly and cautiously. With the blood curd- 
ling in her veins, she listened, and watched, and hstened. 
It continued and grew louder. At first she could not 
determine where it was, but presently became aware that 
whether ‘‘beast or human,” or whatever it might be, it 
was not at either door or window, but somewhere above 
her, in the loft, or on the roof, and ajjproaching fast! Then 
the sound changed to a different one, and the next moment 
a huge, dark form, a “ shape, that shape had none,*' sivoojoed 


66 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


down the broad chimney, and stood silently by her bed."^ Poor 
Peg waited for no second glance, but with eyes starting 
with terror, and every hair on end, rushed out again into 
the storm and darkness, and ‘‘more dead than alive,’’ cow- 
ered down in some shed till morning. But doctor Peggy was 
made of firmer stuff than to sicken or turn gray-haired for 
one night of exposure and terror, and her keen sense of the 
ludicrous and proneness to hearty laughter were much in her 
favor. So in a day or two she was as lively as ever again, 
and at the next fiax-puUing bee she rehearsed the night’s 
mischances for the amusement of the company, and was 
neither feebler, “ sadder, nor wiser ” than before. 


CHAPTEE XY. 

To have friends, “ a man mus-t show himself friendly.'* 

Mr. (or as of tener called, Tim) Giles was as noted for a 
lack of the “ milk o’ human kindness,” and all true neighborly 
feeling, as Peggy G. was for it. He was a gloomy, surly, 
disobliging churl, the terror of the school-boys, and the 
aversion of their parents, for the latter found him not only 
an unpleasant dealer, but a dishonest one, taking unfair ad- 
vantage at every opportunity. His hand was against all 
men, and if theirs were not also against him, they at least 
avoided and let him alone as much as practicable. One in- 
stance alone may illustrate his usual relation with the sur- 
rounding urchins. Martin M. had sold Tim a couple of 


* This chimney goblin was (by his own confession) her husband, a 
graceless rough, and true son of Belial, who, coming home slightly 
inebriated, had thought good to play this joke on his unsuspecting 
spouse. 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


67 


fields, and unfortunately one or two of the best and earliest 
apple-trees were on the land disposed of. The elder chil- 
dren, with many a growl and grimace, accepted the situa- 
tion, but little Jack could hardly be persuaded that he must 
not touch an apple now, where mamma had always let him 
gather freely his whole life before. One day his longing 
for an “ early sweet ” became so intense as to quite outweigh 
his shght sense of the sin and danger, and running slyly 
across the orchard where the fruit was yet hard and green, 
he scrambled over the high fence, and reaching the forbid- 
den tree, began cramming his tiny pockets with all speed. 
But in the very midst of his felony, who should he see bear- 
ing down on him with rapid strides but the new owner, old 
Giles himself. The frightened culprit had espied him too 
late; he had neither time nor strength to fly, till he was 
clutched, and held with an iron hand. Towering darkly 
above him like a giant, and fiercely scowling, he demanded 
his business in stentorian tones. The small sinner could 
only sob out, “ I did want a sweet apple so had, and we hain’t 
got none now,” and beseechingly reach out a couple of the 
rosy beauties as a peace-ofiering to the angry farmer, and 
he took not only them, but all the rest, every one; and with 
evil epithets and loud threats, drove the trembling child 
from the field. Children can not possibly be taught too early 
to respect law and order; and probably, though this seemed 
a little severe, this fright and rude rebuff were the most 
salutary things that could have happened little Jack, for he 
was learning to break the eighth commandment, and to 
deceive his parents also, for he well knew they would not 
at all have permitted his trespass. But of course he and 
the neighboring lads could not see it in this light exactly 
and .hated old Tim worse than ever. Being an odd sort of 
person in many ways, he contended that a man was in duty 
bound to provide coffins for his family, or at least for him- 
self and wife; and he actually took the dimensions of Mrs. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


r>8 

G. and himself to an'undeii^aker, and when the work was 
finished, fetched it home. But finding two large coffins 
rather useless, and uncomfortable pieces of furniture in a 
house where all were alive and well, he had them carried 
out and stowed away in one corner of his large still-house, 
where they stood, covered with dust and cobwebs, for many 
a year. And those thoughtless, irreverent boys used to stop 
and peep through the cracks at them, and coolly speculate 
on the theme, wondering if there was any probability of 
their being occupied at all soon, and whether old Tim would 
even then cease stalking and watching round his melon- 
patch and orchard. And so the giddy mortals laughed and 
jested till, to them, the proverb, “As solemn as a coffin,’’ 
had no kind of significance. 

Giles was not a pious man, by any means ; still he held 
some soi-t of a creed of his own, and once announced to the 
community that there would be preaching at his house on a 
certain afternoon. When the day -airived, a considerable 
number, especially of young people, attended, and sat, and 
waited a long time, but no preacher came. At length Tim 
took the floor, and remarked to the startled audience that 
“ rather than have them entirely disappointed, he would try 
to officiate himself.” After singing a hymn, he proceeded 
to make some rather disjointed and not specially pointed 
remarks, though not so bad as might have been expected. 
It was a lovely day in June, and windows were raised and 
doors opened wide, and in the midst of his harangue, the 
orator, chancing to glance through an open window, saw 
some strays in his field, revelling among his red-top and 
timothy. This was too much for the amateur parson. With 
an angry scowl, he bawled out, “Now, if there ain’t old 
Mort’s hogs agin, in my medder ! ” And dashing out through 
the people, and vaulting over the bars, he went full tilt after 
the swine, leaving the congregation to close the sersdces as 
they thought best, and disperse at their leisure. But at 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


69 


length Tim was taken in a baser act than usual, and sud- 
denly “came to grief.” He was not only a farmer and 
horse-jockey, but also a mighty hunter, spending much time 
on the neighboring mountains. He took various animals, 
but made a specialty of deer; and as he was only twelve 

miles from B he generally carried his game there, and 

his venison in particular found a ready market. 

Things went on in this fashion a long time ; but gradu- 
ally people began to suspect something wrong, some foul 
play in this game business — ^that probably the venison was 
not always deer-flesh. True, he was a great hunter still ; 
but then, there often seemed to be a much greater quantity 
of the meat after it was dressed than before, which was con- 
trary to all rule. Neighbors remembered too, and remind- 
ed each other, of what an unusual number of old, or rather 
of maimed and crippled, horses Tim had possessed at dif- 
ferent times — got for a trifle or for nothing, but never kej)t 
long. They had always disappeared from his premises in a 
few weeks, or months at most, and none had enough inter- 
est in his plans or intimacy with him to inquire why he had 
gotten or how disposed of them. But now, laying this and 
that together, things began to look darkish, and whenever 
he was seen or mentioned, folks nodded and whispered. In 
short, before long a watch was set, and he was detected in 
the act of dressing horse-flesh, and preparing it so as to re- 
semble venison very closely. This he was doing with all 
possible privacy in his cellar and by night, and all was to be 
ready for the morning market. The spies, having made 
certain of the facts, softly withdrew, without the rogue ever 
having suspected their presence, and reported to their own 

company. All decided that the people of B must be 

made aware of the villainy without delay, and a willing del- 
egation started for that purpose, promising themselves am- 
ple reward in the sport of watching the reception of the 
game- wagon and its owner. 


yO 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


When their testimony was first given in, some heard with 
dumb surprise, some with loud exclamations of loathing and 
fiery threats of vengeance ; but others, more grave and 
stately, were disposed to consider it a hoax, not deeming it 
possible that any one would dare ^ to offer such an indignity 
to their staid, proper town, or think of perjoetrating such an 
outrage on them. But finding the witnesses good men and 
true, and the “ assurance double sure,” all became convinced, 
and resolved themselves into a formidable indignation meet- 
ing. 

Meanwhile honest Giles, rising before the ’ dawn, broke 
his fast, fed and harnessed his team, and stocking his wagon 
with various edibles, and a bountiful supply of savory veni- 
son for the city gentry, donned his gray suit and drove gai- 
ly away. Unsuspecting as an infant, all unconscious of 
approaching ill, Tim was nearing the punishment he had 
deserved so long. Dusting off and smoothing out the linen 
covering his stores, to make all look tempting, straightening 
and brushing up his hodden-gray, and chirruping his bays 
into a canter, he swept bravely into the town and com- 
menced crying his wares as usual. Seeing so many on the 
streets, and standing at every corner, he naturally sup- 
posed there was a public meeting — court, or the like — go- 
ing on, and gladly anticipated good prices and quick sales. 
As soon as all was disposed of to the highest bidder, he was 
arrested, charged with the crime, confronted with the wit- 
nesses, and questioned, “ Guilty or not guilty ? ” But as the 
poor guilty craven had no plea to offer, but, covered with 
shame and confusion, could only beg abjectly for pity, his 
sentence was read to him on the spot : 

“ That whereas Timothy Giles, etc., having been tried by 
his peers, and found guilty of the crime of, etc., .... is 
sentenced to be taken in charge by the officers of the law 
and marched through this town of B — — . In the most 
public part of each square of said town, said Giles is to be 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


71 


halted, and receive ten lashes from the whipping-master of 
said town, and be also obliged to eat a portion of his own 
horse-flesh venison ; while at the same time the proper offi- 
cer shall m 0. hud voice proclaim said Giles' crime. And this 
formula shall be strictly carried out in every point, in each 
square of this town, till said Giles has eaten a goodly amount 
of said venison and received a sufficient number of stripes. 
And moreover, let this sentence be executed without delay. 
.... And may said Giles now cease to do evil and learn 
to do well, etc.” * 

Probably justice was not so blind and slow then as now ; 
for a fair trial was held, sentence pronounced, punishment 
inflicted, and the fellow sent about his business — all in half 
a day's time. 

The poor Nimrod, in nowise hungry, but sore, empty- 
handed, and cursing his luck, returned, like Haman, discon- 
solately to his Jeresh, to tell ani complain of all the things 
that had befallen him. Whether he repented is unknown, 
but one thing is certain : he prepared no more delicacies 
for the ungrateful town gentry, and this most unfortunate 
market day was the last that ever saw Tim Giles and his 
venison wagon in the streets of B . 

The Z.’s were another peculiar set — ^rather ; but, though 
poor as poverty, the whole tribe, old and young, cast 
care to the winds, and were recklessly, uproariously gay. 
Occupying only one small hired room, with scant means for 
themselves, they yet gloried in company, and gave a hall 

every week Death is generally supposed to even all, 

and sadden, or at least solemnize ; but these were as unlike 
others in death as in life. When the old man came to die, 
he wished no holy rites, refused to lie in consecrated ground, 
or even in any family cemetery ; but by his own orders he 

* These are facts ; but the exobct language of the sentence, or 
number of the stripes ordered and received in ioto during this forced 
march is unknown. 


72 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


was earned into the adjoining forest and buried alone un- 
der a tall tulip-tree^ with his face toward the west Nor was he 
forgotten, for here the granddaughters often came — ^to 
weep ? — ^to scatter flowers ? No, no ; but hither they tripped 
nightly at set of sun, to sing and dance on his grave. With 
these and other outlandish ways their landlord was mightily 
disgusted, and he routed them betimes in the spring, re- 
marking angrily, ‘‘ Tramp they must and shall, for my farm 
has had a year-o'-days scandal now'' These were bad and 
heathenish enough : but a brother landlord had a much 
greater provocation. A man having died in one of his 
houses, his friends (forgetting they were in America) gath- 
ered in, turned the flat coffin-lid into a card and refreshment 
table, spread the greasy pack on one end, and setting their 
jugs on the other, sipped and played alternately until the 
ladies arrived. Then growing gayer still, and needing more 
room, they hoisted the corpse into the loft, stood the coffin 
behind the door, and ate, drank, and danced till morning. 


CHAPTEE XVI. 

Oh, merry band ! . . . . for you the revel is but begun ; 

But for one who joins your sports to-day, the revel of life is done,'* 

It has been said that Virginia contains more mountainous 
country than any other State east of the Eocky Mountains, 
and the T.’s found their own section, H county, no ex- 

ception. The whole surface is diversifled with high hills, 
fertile valleys, deep gorges, and frowning crags, while nu- 
merous springs, broad creeks, and smaller streams rise 
everywhere in the ravines and vales, and pour their waters 
downward to swell the Cacapon Eiver and the north and 
south branches of the Potomac. 

The road to Y , passing through the midst of this 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


73 


picturesque scenery, and winding round the mountain 
ridges, shaded with hemlocks and trailing vines, was wildly 
beautiful, but in some places so dangerous that Bessie, on 
her way to town, often trembled as she rode along the nar- 
row track and glanced into the abyss below, considering 
where a moment’s dizziness on her part, or a misstep by her 
horse, would inevitably cast her. 

From the peculiarity of the surface of the country, and 
the unusual number of its streams of all sizes, great freshets 
were very common, and so sudden that persons leaving 
home for a day or an afternoon, on returning sometimes 
found the murmuring beck they had crossed when going 
swollen to a mighty creek, and the creeks changed to rivers. 
So many accidents occurred from this cause, that at length 
custom and pubhc opinion made it incumbent on all ages 
and sexes to learn swimming; and on warm summer days 
groups could be seen here and there congregated on the 
banks of deep creek or shady river for this useful amuse- 
ment as frequently as they are now seen on the croquet or 
base-bal] grounds. 

One sultry Saturday afternoon, when all the scouring, 
baking, and roasting were finished, and everything made 
sweet and tidy in readiness for the approaching Sabbath, 
half a score or so of matrons and maids set out to enjoy 
their evening bath and swimming-lesson. Bessie did not 
accompany them that day; but her cousin, Hannah T., a girl 
of eighteen, and an adept in the art, went as usual. As re- 
marked before, it was a place of many waters ; and some 
chose one place, and some another for their sport. And as 
this company were about to start, some one asked, Where 
shall we go to-day ? ” And Hannah replied: “ Oh, to the deep 
pool ” ; and playfully snatching one of the babes from its 
mother’s arms, clasped it in her own, and led the way. They 
were a merry party, and passed along through the green 
fields laughing and chatting gaily, little thinking there was 
4 


74 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


another in their midst they knew not, that an ‘‘ unseen pres- 
ence was walking with them side by side, and all unheeding 
their merry talk, was claiming one for his bride.’’ Oh ! little 
dreaming that to one of their number, the gayest, the fair- 
est, this was the “ last of earth ’* ! The point selected was 
not far distant; and on reaching it, Hannah T. quickly seated 
the child on the soft mossy carpet, and almost before the 
others were fairly on the spot, skipped hghtly up the sloping 
bank, and smiling, and beckoning to her mates, sprang 
gleefully into the clear depths below. The others laughed 
and cheered ; the sparkhng waters for an instant rippled, 
flashed, parted, closed, and she was gone! The others, 
powerless and wild with terror, could only shriek frantically 
for aid, for she had sunk like a stone, never rising even 
once to the surface. Good divers soon arrived, and she was 
speedily raised and borne homeward ; but all efforts to re- 
store her were fruitless. The young form was still warm 
with life ; the fair face still wore the flush of youth and 
health ; so beautiful, so life-like, yet only clay, lifeless clay. 
No sound came back to the still lips ; no motion to the 
silent heart ; and as the daylight waned, the limbs grew 
rigid, the settled calm of death crept over the features ; and, 
ere long, faint, hvid shades began to mingle on the ruby 
cheeks, and touch the finger-tips. Ah 1 death 1 cruel death 1 

“ That will not hold unchanged thy fairest guest, 

Earth must take earth, to molder on its breast. 

Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest. 

Fond friends, who had hoped, and labored, and prayed, 
now hoping no longer, bowed in desperate sorrow, and gave 
place to others ; ;^delding up the dear form to strangers’ 
hands, to be returned to them a shrouded corpse, ready for 
the burial. Theirs to watch and weep over a few brief hours ; 
and then, theirs no longer, — the morrow would see it borne 
from their longing arms, and hidden forever from sight. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


75 


CHAPTEE XVIL 

“ When the place of our abiding is known to earth no more. 

And the cold world, rudely chiding, shall repeat our story o’er. 

Far beyond its idle guessing, far beyond its praise or scorn, 

Recking not its blame or blessing, oh! my love, we shall be gone.” 

Here, or hereabout (not far from the T.’s), a century 
ago, near these same clear lakelets and rapid rivers, there 
lived — among acquaintances better or more fortunate in dis- 
position and early training — a poor waif on society called 
Joseph Gale, or, as he was more generally designated, 
“ Blundering Joe.” He was a man of rather weak intellect 
and strong passions ; poor and illiterate, yet was a profes- 
sor of religion in an orthodox, influential church ; but sel- 
dom being, according to the formula, in ‘‘ good and regular 
standing,” he was in a manner kept on sufferance and rather 
an eyesore to the society. Strong drink, that has cast down 
and ruined such countless thousands of all classes in all 
ages, was perhaps Joe’s greatest temptation, and it met him 
at every turn. No “ temperance societies,” ‘‘ pledges,” “ pro- 
hibitory laws,” or any other barriers, were then or there set 
up to assist the weak. On the contrary, almost every place 
this poor man went to work, visit, or call, he found his 
enemy awaiting him. Consequently, he was often overcome; 
and as one sin almost invariably leads on to another, his sin 
did not always stop at intoxication. 

Yet the preacher solemnly read from God’s word, “Ab 
drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of heaven.** And Joe 
trembled and believed. They all believed this; did they 
also read and believe other passages, as Woe unto him that 
giveth his neighbor drink .... and makest him drunken ” ? 
Or the curse Christ himself pronounced on those who should 


76 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


cause His little ones to stumble, “ Whoso shall offend one 
of these little ones which believe on me, it were better for 
him that a millstone were hanged about his neck and he were 
drowned in the depths of the sea ” ? But in that age, while 
they believed the first, they seemed not to have well under- 
stood or considered the latter and kindred passages. So 
Joe alone was cited as the dehnquent, when evil was oc- 
current. And while the brethren “ reasoned on righteous- 
ness, temperance, and judgment to come,’’ he gave the most 
respectful and serious attention. They questioned him as 
to his faults, and he humbly confessed them; reproved him, 
and he received it with all meekness; exhorted to penitence 
and renewed watchfulness, and he tearfully professed the 
one, and promised by divine aid to attempt the other. Then 
the church, with brotherly pity and loving words of counsel 
and encouragement, would dismiss him from the court, and 
he would return to his usual avocations, and his unequal 
contest with the great adversary without and corruption 
within. 

For a time trusting in God only for grace, he would pray, 
“ watch and be sober,” and walk softly and cautiously along 
the narrow way of holiness. Then it was well with him, 
and he proved the promise true, that the wayfaring man 
though a fool shall not err therein.” And that while Christ 
alone is his strength and hope, the feeblest, most despised be- 
liever is as safe, as blest, as the strongest and wisest. 

But alas ! unstable as water, Joe’s holy living again and 
again had its periods of change and dechne. He would 
gradually grow a little colder in prayer, a little less loatchful 
over his heart, not quite so strict in keeping the Sabbath, not 
always in his place in the sanctuary ; a lukewarmness was al- 
lowed to creep into his affections, a little hut ever-widening 
distance to grow up between him and his Saviour. And this 
{as it ever is) was Satan's golden opportunity. 

Now, in this season of coldness and self-security was the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


77 


time to again put forth his temptations and ply his wiles 
successfully. Soon, almost before the unwary soul had real- 
ized that its strength had departed, it was entangled, snared, 
wounded ; for, with his pecidiar temperament, sin was seldom 
arrested and repented of in its first stages, but speedily be- 
came overt and scandalous. Then would follow another cita- 
tion, another trial, more reproof and solemn warning from the 
Session, and renewed confessions, promises, and tears from 
Joe. And this scene was repeated over and over, till it came 
to be a mortifying cross to the church and an amusing farce 
to the scoffers. 

Scarcely a season passed (if, indeed, a quarterly meeting 
did) without the poor, blundering impotent being sum- 
moned to answer for some iniquity, misstep, or misde- 
meanor of one kind or another. The good were grieved 
and discouraged, while the wicked strove to increase his of- 
fences, sported themselves with the endless trials, and 
laughed at both parties, — as, that “ Joe Gale hovered around 
like the bat in the fable, settling on neither side, and driv- 
ing the shepherd and his aides to their wits’ end to find 
what flock he belonged in, the sheep or the goats. Well, if 
heaven’s gate would admit old Josey, it must be comfortably 
wide ; more of them might crowd through, too,” and so on. 

Even the most forbearing, patient friends sometimes lost 
patience with this weak, ready-to-halt pilgrim ; but none 
thought of aiding his feeble, uncertain steps by striving to 
remove the great stumbling-block out of the way. No, 
there it was, and there it remained. Some, wearying of the 
case entirely, would have sentenced the hapless culprit to 
indefinite suspension or summary expulsion, and thus ended 
the ceaseless, painful surveillance. But the wiser, more ex- 
perienced members shook their heads. “ He was a trouble- 
some, tiresome creature,” they asserted, “ and could hardly 
be termed beneficial to the society in any way, spiritually or 
financially ; yet, after all, in the judgment of charity ‘ was 
not the root of the matter found in him ’ ? ” 


78 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Despite the frequent censures and sharp reproofs of the 
church, he held it close, and loved it still. ‘‘ Should they 
drive him from its sheltering arms ? Though often baffled 
and wounded sore by the foe, he spake no word of giving 
up the battle for lost, and going back to the world. Ought 
they then to withdraw their aid, and virtually thrust him 
into it ? Though overtaken in many faults, he was ever 
ready to listen to rebuke, and humbly confess his sin; ought 
not they then to forgive and ‘ restore him in meekness ’ ? 
‘ Ought not the strong to bear the infirmities of the weak ? ’ 
remembering ‘who had made them to differ. He had 
never neglected to hear the church; dare it, then, cast him 
forth as a heathen and a publican ? ” 

Some vrere ready enough to answer “ yes,” that this was 
a case of “disorderly walking”; that such continual short- 
comings and backshdings could never be the fruits of a gra- 
cious heart, and “ by their fruits ye shall know them.” 

He heard the church, but hearing and not obeying, did not 
profit. Bearing, forbearing, and forgiving in this case had 
gone far enough, etc. But others demurred, fearing lest 
haply ■ they might “ quench the flax or break the bruised 
reed.” “ Hardened, defiant backsliders must be cut off,” they 
said, “ but as often as a brother returned meek and penitent, 
they saw no way but to forgive him, even if to ‘seventy 
times seven.’ ” 

And so matters continued as they were. Joe remained a 
care and a worry, and things went on as before ; sometimes 
better, sometimes worse. Thus years on years passed by ; 
and now fighting and gaining, now yielding and losing, 
falling, rising and falling again, the weak one struggled on 
his way. But at last there came a day when the church 
needed to chide and watch no longer, when its praise and 
blame were ahke unheeded, and the world could tempt and 
wound no more. The weary warfare was ended. Poor Joe 
had been cited by a higher court, summoned to answer be- 
fore the great tribunal, and to his own master stand or fall. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


79 


The last rites were over, and as the neighbors lingered 
and talked around the new-made grave, the sleeper was the 
subject ; and for the hundredth time they went over his 
checkered story. All knew the mistakes, the follies, the 
sins, and some were ready to recall and repeat them even 
there ; but others were kindly willing to ascribe them partly 
to bodily and mental infirmity, and to dwell more on his 
seeming penitence and the number and power of his temp- 
tations. None could deny that he had sadly dishonored 
the Master, and put Him to open shame ; but had he not 
just as openly wept bitterly, bemoaning himself as unworthy 
to kiss His feet, or touch the hem of His garment ? and One 
only knew how often, too, this still heart had bled in secret, 
and these dumb lips cried with the leper and the publican, 
“ Unclean, unclean ! God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” 

Yes, after all, the more candid thought there had been 
evidence of a little true faith, a spark of real grace in his life ; 
and that therefore there was hope in his death ; yet, considering 
EVERYTHING, it Scarcely seemed safe or wise to speak of it. 
Might not such a confession tend to stumble young converts, 
lower the tone of piety, and • perhaps confirm the ungodly in 
their course? That he was gone forever, and a great tender 
pity had filled their hearts, could not change his record ; that 
WAS AS IT WAS. An.d as such things had befallen in life, it 
was meet now at death to hold their peace, make no parade of his 
piety, dwell no longer on his frailties ; but let the evil and 
the good die together, and both be interred with his bones. 

This course would at once be more considerate toward the 
dead, and safer for the living. So they reasoned ; but a 
quaint, impulsive old sister, Eppy H., believing that the 
prey was escaped and Satan foiled, and not knowing, or not 
sharing in their scruples, exclaimed in a tone of mingled 
relief and triumph : 

“ He’s safe at last. Poor, blundering Joe’s safe home at 
last!” 


80 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Some demurred at this decided^ outspoken verdict on so 
perplexing a case ; but the majority, who had watched the 
long struggle with the powers of darkness, agreed with Eppy. 
“ The ‘ wood, hay, stubble ’ has perished,” they said. “ The 
builder has ‘ suffered loss,' but the foundation being sure, he 
himself is saved ‘yet so as by fire ' ” 

To this, most silently assented, or fervently said amen ; 
and even the more cautious ventured to add: 

“ We hope the same. We do not know. We judge him 
no longer ; but we hope it is well with Joe. We will hope 
to meet him in heaven — hope and trust till we go and see," 


CHAPTEE XVm. 

“ Better is a neighbor that is near, than a brother far off.'' 

How long the T.’s resided in Virginia is not known ; but 
their next removal was to Western Pennsylvania, then al- 
most a wilderness; much of it still inhabited by Indians, and 
abounding with game. This was an arduous undeHaking 
— a journey over newly-cut, almost impassable roads, and 
through dense forests and rocky defiles, where lurking In- 
dians or savage beasts might at any time appear to dispute 
the wa3\ The road la}^ through much fine scenery, both 
gTand and beautiful ; but the travellers were too much oc- 
cujiied with their own thoughts of the past and the future, 
and with caring for the safety of their goods and little ones 
over the dangerous route, to pay much heed to it. They 
did, however, observe the great height and size of many of 
the trees, and note that some of the gorges they passed 
through were so deep and thicldy shaded that they saw the 
stars shining brightly at noonday. 

Their destination was that part of “ Eedstone Settlement ” 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


81 


now known as Fayette County, Pa., though it and some ad- 
jacent counties were then claimed also by both Maryland 
and Virginia. They arrived safel}'-, and stopped first at a 

farm bordering on J ’s Creek, and some four or five 

miles from B -, then a straggling hamlet of ten or twelve 

log-houses. But their stay here was brief, owing to circum- 
stances of which they were ignorant at the time of locating, 

and over which they had no control. This J farm was 

one of the oldest and best improved in that settlement — 
fertile, weU watered, comfortable double cabin dweUing- 
house, several fields pretty well cleared, etc. The owner 
was not a resident, but travelled as surveyor, Indian trader, 
or some such business, and rented his property. 

One morning early a stranger knocked at their door, and 
inquired for Mr. T. On being admitted, he spent no time 
on the weather or other generalities, but remarked that 

having heard a new settler had arrived and taken the J 

farm, he had felt it a duty to come and communicate some 
facts on the subject that he felt sure had been kept in the 
background when he bargained, and that the owner would 
not care to have known. Mr. T., in some surprise, told him 
the bargain seemed well enough — neither more nor less fair 
than was usual ^between strangers, and asked what he 
thought there was amiss in the business. The other replied, 
that to his certain knowledge there were old claims, back 
rent, etc., connected with the estate to a large amount, and 
it would be required of whoever was found occupying it on 
reckoning day, and, as a friend, advised him (T.) to have 
nothing to do with it either as purchaser or renter, but re- 
move forthwith if he did not wish to be a ruined man — get 
away speedily too, somewhere, anywhere, so it was not 
there. 

The kind messenger’s tidings proved to be correct on ev- 
ery point, and threw the newly arrived into great commotion. 
They were strangers, unacquainted with the country and 


82 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


tlie people, knowing no one to apply to — roads strange, and 
deep with mire and slush, health precarious, the weather 
inclement, and, above all else, the season to work in so short; 
for it was now near the last of December — only one week 
till reckoning day. Mrs. T. was equally concerned with her 
husband at the evil turn of affairs that seemed likely to 
make them homeless in the midst of winter, or ruin them if 
they remained ; but, pale and ailing, with her small chil- 
dren round her, she was little fitted to buffet storms of any 
kind, whether of life or the elements, and could only hope 
and wait ; while Mr. T., prompt and energetic, prepared 
himself as best he could for the exposure, and, mounting 
his best horse, set forth at once to see what could be 
done. 

But not a house of any description could be found. Very 
few, even of the first settlers, had as yet gotten more than a 
small cabin for themselves, and consequently had no room 
for others ; and after looking and inquiring that neighbor- 
hood through in vain, he started out through the forest to 
visit another settlement lying some miles fiu'ther south. 
On reaching it and making known his errand, he was direct- 
ed to two of the oldest and wealthiest citizens. Deacon 
James and Deacon Young, as most competent to aid and 
advise him in his search. 

To these he came — gave name, occupation, abode, and 
stated his case fully. He was an entire stranger : they had 
never seen or heard of him before ; yet so persuasive was 
the “plain, unvarnished tale,” seconded by the frank, manly 
bearing of the narrator, that their sympathies were quickly 
enlisted. They comprehended and appreciated the situa- 
tion immediately, and cordially promised to assist him in 
escaping from the snare. But here the old dilemma rose : 
neither of them possessed a vacant house, nor was there one 
to be heard of. Said the deacons, “.We will go with our 
teams and assist in bringing your goods and family if you 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


83 


can find a roof to shelter them.” But no amount of careful 
search could discover what did not exist. “ But I must move 
somewhere^ and that speedily,” said Mr. T. decidedly, “ for 
the last week is going fast.” “ Aye, aye,” cried wiry Deacon 
Young, “ there is no time to lose. Four da^^s more and that 
rascally agent will be on you for a pretty sum. Come at all 
events. Here is my first cabin,* a cow-house now ; but we 
will turn them out, clean it Avell, and as it has a good roof, 
chimney, and floor, you can stow your goods away in it, and 
manage to live some way a few weeks.” 

There was no alternative; so, thankfully accepting the 
offer, he hastened homeward to make ready for the transit 
and acquaint Bessie with the arrangements. Probably she 
had gained more philosophy, religion, or both, than she 
could boast when her want of fortitude drew down on her 
head the contempt of her sturdy Virginia cousin, for there 
is no tradition of tears or murmurs this time. 

Early next morning the new friends prepared to fulfil 
their part of the engagement, and as there was a little snow, 
and no end of mud, wheels were vetoed and large sleds sub- 
stituted. When about half the distance was passed, Mr. 
J.’s sled broke down. This seemed yery unfortunate, caus- 
ing troubk and delay when time was so precious ; but it did 
more than that : the owner, a timid, superstitious, though 
kind-hearted man, looked on the accident as a bad omen, if 
. not a positively forbidding providence. 

‘‘ Now, Deacon Y.,” said he, “ it may be these new-comers 
are bad kind of people, that we ought not to bring into our 
neighborhood, and I mean to go back.” 

“ Nonsense, brother J. ; why, what are you talking about ! ” 
exclaimed the other, did we not both think the man looked 


* This goodly mansion had no glass in the windows, and no door, 
except as a bullock’s hide was hung up and nailed fast at the top, to 
form that useful appendage. 


84 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


like honesty itself, and say his story was as straightforwaixl 
and open as the day ? ” 

But na persuasion or rebuking was able to revive his char- 
ity or restore his courage, and gathering up his disabled 
vehicle, weak-kneed like himself, home he went. Deacon 
Young was a different character every way. He was bold, 
ardent, hasty ; quick to resolve, prompt to execute, wiili 
fear and caution alike unknown. The reverse of good, meek 
brother J. in everything only kindness of heart toward oth- 
ers, and in this he equalled him, and added the strong and 
willing hand to help, of more worth than much idle feeling. 
Giving his retreating ally a grim, contemptuous smile, he 
cast omens and old wives’ fables to the winds, and like a 
brave knight, pushed on to finish the adventure alone : nor 
rested till all was safely transferred, and the strangers made 
secure and comfortable on his own premises. Nor did his 
kindness cease then ; he was about erecting a building of 
large size (for that day), and to the stranger he gave the 
contract, though his industry and skill were both unproved, 
and also introduced him to other persons of influence as one 
worthy of their acquaintance and patronage. 

“ The first settlers, hj merely building a cabin and raising 
a crop, however small, were entitled to 400 acms of land, 
and a pre-emption right to 1,000 acres more adjoining the 
first grant.” * But this golden opportunity had passed. 
Many persons had secured not only the 1,400 acres, but- 
several additional tracts, and though there was compara- 
tively little land cleared and under cultivation, all was claim- 
ed. Mr. Young owned a large amount too, and sold his 
new friend some 600 acres at a fair price, saying he had 
only taken up so much that he might have neighbors to 
his mind, by selling only to proper persons. As soon as 
the spring opened Mr. T. began to improve his new pur- 


* “ Doddridge’s Notes,” p. 99. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


85 


chase, and by mutual agreement only worked on his pa- 
tron’s building when it suited him. In those days erect- 
ing a house was no great affair, and he being an excellent 
workman, soon had as comfortable a dw^elling as his neigh- 
bors, if not better. And then came moving day — the first 
busy, happy day in the new house on the new farm. This 
locality and the scenery destined to surround them through 
life, and by its subtle, yet potent influence, leave a lasting- 
impress on the minds of their children, deserve a passing 
notice. 

The new home — ^homely, but fresh, sweet, and cosey — stood 
in a little valley, scarcely a stone’s throw from the moun- 
tain’s base, and sheltered from wind and storm by its mighty 
wing. A tract of rising ground, two or three fields cleared 
and cultivated, formed the background, and sloped gently 
away toward the northwest. Elsewhere dense, unbroken 
forest prevailed, and easterly, as far as the eye could reach, 
with their dark, lofty pines, beetling chffs, gloomy caverns, 
sohtude and silence, rose in changeless grandeur the ever- 
lasting hills. A broad stream, whose cold, pure waters, 
stolen from many a deep ravine, solemn cave, and hidden 
fountain among the far, untrodden heights, rolled by the 
door, winding its shady oourse through thick-clustering lau- 
rels, birch, and alder ; while stately spruce and hemlocks tow- 
ered above, their gray stems gleaming through their droop- 
ing boughs, that bent over and kissed its waves. Now, deep 
and still, it glided by without a sound ; now softly warbled 
over silver pebbles and golden sand ; anon broke into loud 
murmurs, and dashed and foamed along its rocky bed, and 
leaped and plashed in many a sparkling jet and fair cas- 
cade. But deep or shallow, swift or slow, with sound or 
silence, in sunshine or shadow, always beautiful! A joy, a 
blessing, a heritage in thyself ! Sweet, changeless streamlet ; 
free, peerless Redstone. 


86 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEK XIX. 

“ The hot wind like a sower sows the ground with sparkling red. 

And the bellowing deer and the hissing snake, 

What a swirl of terrible sounds they make.'* 

'' Old friendships, sweet birds, and sweet flowers. 

Can ne’er lose their sweetness to me.” 

The family comfortably settled, its bead turned with new 
vigor to the more arduous business of erecting his mills, 
working early and late with unflagging zeal, and being 
obliged to make one ov more trips over the mountain for nails, 
iron, bolting-cloths, etc,, that could not be obtained nearer.* 
Once before they were entirely finished, he came the second 
time near losing all, and, singularly enough, Mr. Young was 
again his deliverer. The weather was exceedingly warm and 
dry, and Mr. T. was from home working on some building in 
the vicinity. While thus occupied he was surprised to see 
the deacon galloping toward him, leading another horse at his 
side. Haihng distance gained, he called aloud, “Paul, there’s 
fire in the mountains ! moving sffaight on your house and 
mills ! ” Before the sentence was hardly finished, the empty 
saddle was filled, they were gone like the wind. Three miles 
lay before them, but it was quickly passed, and a scene of 
terrific grandeur met their view. The flames were leaping 
from shrub to shrub, frbm tree to tree, like things of life. 
The summit of the last hill was one vast sea of fire, and at 
its foot lay his home — ^his all. Nothing could withstand its 
fury; everything — green and dry — was perishing in its 


* Being a carpenter and millwright by trade, he of course did the 
wood- work himself, but he also chose and cut the stones, and, in short, 
did almost everything himself. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


87 


deadly breath. It left the earth black and smouldering, 
sprang on the undergrowth hke a ‘‘ fiery dragon,” darted as 
lightning on the tall pines, and streamed and waved from 
their lofty tops hke blood-red banners. 

And on, on, crackling, trampling, rushing, crashing, roar- 
ing, on it came. And where, meanwhile, was the settler’s 
wife, the delicate, timid httle wife and mother ? Cowering 
in the cottage, clasping her babes to her bosom, or, her post 
y'hoUy deserted, flying wildly with them to the settlement 
for help and safety ? No, all alone with her three children 
they found her toiling on the mountain’s verge, panting, 
glowing in the heat and smoke, struggling with all her feeble 
powers to turn back *the advancing foe. The men flew 
to her aid. Happily they knew what plans were best, and 
how to lay and execute them, and the effect of them strong, 
well-directed efforts was soon visible. Huge rows of leaves 
and other combustibles were raked toward the summit, no 
sooner formed than ignited, and soon gTeat chains of coun- 
ter-fires were seen all along the hill-side, raging and blaz- 
ing up the steep to meet the descending flames. In that 
day neighbors were few and widely scattered, and whether 
any of them sapr the trouble and arrived in time to aid does 
not appear ; but finally alter herculean exertions the danger 
was over, and, utterly exhausted, they sank down to rest, 
thank heaven, and congratulate each other. 

And the T.’s ever after looked back with grateful hearts 
to this day when a mightier power than theirs had said, 
“Thus far, and no farther!” and the fiery waves were 
stayed, and considered this escape as one of the most signal 
mercies of their lives. Very soon after this, the mill prop- 
erty that had been nearest destruction received the finish- 
ing touches and went into operation. The saw-mill was 
much needed in the community, and did well, but the grist- 
mfil was the great success. People came from far and near 
with their loaded wains, those from Green County and other 


88 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


distant points taking lodgings with the miller, and waiting 
for their flour two or three days sometimes, as others would 
be in before them, and each must take his turn. This was 
said by old pioneers to have been the first * grist-mill erect- 
ed in Western Pennsylvania. And once a travelling artist 
seeking and sketching the picturesque, among many other 
wild and beautiful views in Fayette took this and the sur- 
rounding scenery, and entitled it, “ First Mill west of the 
Alleghanies.’’ 

The T.’s were the parents of eight children. Two died in 
the East in infancy, and two of the later children bore the 
lost ones’ names. Four — one girl and three boys — accom- 
panied them to the West, and the two youngest children. 
Rose and Elza, were veritable backwoods girls, and drew 
their first breath from the mountain air on the banks 

of the Redstone. The parents, careful and troubled about 
many things, and contending with all the disadvantages and 
privations of frontier life, found little time to bestow on the 
less essential matters of taste. So that when the little 
daughters were able to toddle out and look about them, 
they found, the kitchen-garden still monopolizing the whole 
plat, to the exclusion of all the flowery tribe. One sweet 
May day, the youngest pet, httle Elza, playing on a sunny 
slope beyond the garden, came running in with her hands 
full of dandelions and five-finger blossoms, and with pride 
and joy spread them before her mother. The maternal 
heart responded at once. Smiling appreciatively on the 
weedy bouquet, she said to her husband, “ The child posi- 
tively suffers for flowers. I must have some immediately.” 
And that very afternoon, with the little “ sufferer ” at her 
side, she started on her mission. 

* This statement has, however, been disputed ; but if not the first, 

, it was certainly among the first ; and that settlers came to it from miles 
beyond the Cheat and Monongahela Rivers is a well-known fact. 
Some of these stated that they had come thirty miles. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


89 


Down a shady path, a mile and a quarter to the south, 
Mrs. A., the schoolma’am, lived. This lady had much piety, 
unusual intelligence, a great love for sound doctrine, and 
(just here we may add, as she will not be mentioned again) 
as great a horror of free-thinking. One or two semi-atheists 
she contended with, both verbally and by writing, and oft- 
times she entreated them that, if determined to hold fast 
their errors, they would at least abstain from bringing up 
their sentiments before her children, and also from dissemi- 
nating them among others of the young and unestablished in 
their little community. But in spite of her utmost care, some 
seed was sown that perished not with the sowers, but went 
on flourishing and bearing fruit when they were gone and 
forgotten. Thus the faith of some was undermined. Many a 
dark doubt sprang up, and the cross, the sinner’s only hope, the 
sweet story of the cross learned at a teacher’s and a mother’s 
knee, became to some only a cunningly devised fable and an 
idle tale. Ah, truly, ‘‘ the evil that men do lives after them,” 
but where its baleful influence ends, eternity only can disclose. 

But to return. For this good lady, this defender of the 
faith” in the wilderness, so pious and useful, Mrs. T. 
had a great regard ; and as they had oneness of sentiment 
on this most important subject of aU, religion, and sympa- 
thy on many minor points, a close friendship had gradually 
grown up between the two. 

Mrs. A. was, for that day, a great florist too — had more 
shrubbery, bulbs, etc., around her than twenty other gar- 
deners could boast; and it was to her home that Bessie and 
wee Elza bent their steps that pleasant May day. School 
was in session that spring, but as much of the afternoon 
was given to plain sewing, knitting, netting, etc., visitors 
gave little interruption. So these were welcome ; and while 
Elza observed her new surroundings, scanned the many 
strange faces, and made friends with the spotted kitten, and 
old Trim, the house-dog, the elders discussed neighborhood 


90 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


affairs, tlie last funeral, the four-days meeting expected in 
June (if the preacher arrived), and the prospects of the 
church and community generally. After supper, all saUied 
forth into the garden, and flags, lilies, peonies, and rose- 
bushe&were hfted and given with a liberal hand. This rose 
was not so laminated as many, but was of most brilliant hue 
and fine fragrance, and the buds were exquisite. It was 
the children’s first sight of a rose-tree, and they went out 
with their mamma to see it, and all, planted ; noticed with in- 
fantile interest the different forms and colors of the several 
varieties of plants, with their variously shaped roots; watched 
the disposition of each in the fresh mould, and laughed, and 
skipped with delight around their first flower-bed. What 
other roots and slips were given is not known, but these four 
varieties flourished long and well — too long and -well to be 
passed by and forgotten. Through all the long, checkered 
years of the parents they lived and bloomed, and lived and 
bloomed when they were dead. They lived and bloomed 
for the children who in infant glee first watched their open- 
ing buds ; and when they, too, grown old and fuU of days, 
had left the stage, these lived and flourished still, and year 
after year blossomed above their heads, and dropped their 
petals on their graves. And there and elsewhere they grow 
and bloom to-day, green and strong, though a hundred 
years have rolled away since first they unfolded their beau- 
ties and shed their perfume over the wilds of the West. 

One great source of regret to Bessie in her home in the 
wilderness was the absence of the feathered songsters, fa- 
miliar to eye and ear from infancy. Here the soft warble 
of the blue-bird, the one refrain of the robin, pewee, and 
killdeer, never greeted her ear ; and she listened and longed 
in vain for the lingering “ notes of linked sweetness ” of the 
(cat) mocking-bird. That dear, fussy, cheerful little house- 
wife, the wren, never flitted around her door by day, nor the 
sad whippoorwill by night. She never saw the joyous swallow 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


91 


twittering beneath the eaves, nor the gay red-bird flashing 
through the pines. The cheerful strains of the lark, song- 
sparrow, maiiin, etc., were never heard. No, for these, with 
the thrush, red-wing, dove, finch, and “the whole tribe of 
singing birds were yet beyond the mountain : while the 
wild turkey, buzzard, owl, raven, and woodpecker were al- 
most the only winged denizens of the forests.” 

Several years had now elapsed since the T.’s advent to 
the West ; but family cares, misfortune, success, distance, 
time, everything alike, had failed with Bessie to chill her 
heart or efface the recollections of the past. Though too 
kind and true a wife to allow her feelings to hinder her 
duties or discourage her husband, her memory was very 
often reverting to bygone scenes, and her soul sorely longing 
for the old-time faces and long-broken circles of Essex and 
Hampshire. Mr. T. Avas proverbially self-controlled and reti- 
cent, and especially so as to his own sentiments and affairs; 
so whether he at all partook of his wife’s homesickness is 
not known. 

One day in the spring or early summer of 17 — a neigh- 
bor called, and after some desultory chat, mentioned IMr. 
and Mrs. Long (two old acquaintances in the East), and 
carelessly added, “ They’re in the West; are over at Esq. 
Long’s now.” The hstener broke forth into exclamations 
of surprise and pleasure. 

“Indeed! Is it possible! When will they be here? 
When did they come? I will be so glad to see any one 
from Essex ! ” etc. 

Presently he began again, slowly and cautiously : “ Mr. 
and Mrs. K. — i. e., Kowland Eobinson and wife — thought — 
of coming — -too. They talked — about — it. Will come — 
some time — soon.” 

At last, after much circumlocution, he slowly gave her to 
understand that this long-lost brother — the only near rela- 
tive she had on earth — ^had really come with the Longs, — 


92 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


was in the neighborhood — would be with her that very day ! * 
This person had been sent on to apprise and prepare her for 
the meeting, and this was well; for, as it was, she was almost 
overcome. They came in soon after: brother, sister-in-law, 
old neighbors, new neighbors, and all ; and after the first 
tender emotions, the tears, and embraces were over, a re- 
union and jubilee were held such as the wilderness had sel- 
dom seen. 

But precious as this visit was, every moment golden, to 
the hungry, longing soul of the loving sister, there are few 
records of it now. Doubtless there were a world of recol- 
lections recalled : old friendships; long-past scenes; early 
days revived and lived over ; the cares and duties of the 
present considered together ; the hopes and fears of the 
future confided to each other. But it passed, this blissful 
season passed away, as all others must ; and very sadly they 
bade each other adieu — a last adieu, for Bessie never met 
them, nor any of her early friends, again on earth. And 
she used to say, when speaking of such cases, and of this 
one in particular, “ That she had never decided in her own 
mind which was the greater, the joy of meeting or the pain 
of parting.” 

Some mementoes of that long-past visit have descended 
to this age ; among the gifts to the children was a needle- 
cushion for Elza’s work-box; and though its rich satin cover- 
ing is worn and moth-eaten, and its gay embroidery frayed 
and tarnished, it may still be seen. Another was a hamper 
of delicious apples from the ‘‘old plantation”; a welcome 
treat to those who had scarcely seen one for years. Bessie 
saved the seeds very carefully, and fearing to trust them in 
the open ground, planted them in a pot. When fairly start- 
ed, they were transferred to the garden, and at the proper 

* It was to this uucle and aunt that Elza wrote (or rather printed) a 
letter v/hen almost a babe. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


93 


time removed to the place prepared for them. There they 
throve, and grew to a goodly orchard, that has blossomed 
and borne for five generations ; and haply, generations yet 
to come may rejoice in its fruitfulness, and rest in its 
shadow. 


CHAPTEE XX. 

“ No sluggish soul to leaden dullness wed.’' 

“ Hourly the shadow creeps, nearer, still nearer ! ” 

Lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in death not divided.” 

Cordelia’s — the eldest daughter — health had been rather 
delicate from infancy, and now, at twelve years of age, had 
for some time been perceptibly declining. Their family physi- 
cian honestly told them that his medicine was doing no per- 
manent good, and it was of little or no use to continue it ; 
and recommended a journey to Bedford Springs — a great 
resort for invalids at that day. This order it was by no 
means easy to obey; the father’s business was urgent, de- 
manding his constant care; the mother’s duties, as every 
mother knows, were endless ; and then, carrying the sick 
seventy or eighty miles, with no public conveyance, was not 
what such a trip would be at present. But paternal solic- 
itude overcame all obstacles, and they reached the place 
safely, and placed their charge where she could test the full 
wtues of the waters, and have the best medical aid. After 
some time and due examination of the symptoms, the doctor 
informed them that their ‘‘ child’s case was incurable. Her 
lungs were seriously diseased ; she could never be well, nor 
much better, though she might linger for some time, pos- 
sibly years.” This was heavy tidings for the tender, anxious 
parents; and, with sad hearts, they turned homeward again, 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


y4 

having gained little or nothing by the journey but the 

blighting of their hopes 

All the T. children possessed strong, vigorous minds, and 
most of them much ideality. These were ever admiring 
the grand and the beautiful in nature, and even when small, 
with chalk or keel, pen or pencil, anything that would trace 
a line, essaying to imitate what struck their fancies most ; 
while many a strong, though unpolished period and flow- 
ing rhyme gave evidence of the teeming thoughts within. 
At three years of age, Elza wrote a letter to an aunt in the 
East, — wrote without aid from any one, — and it was inclosed 
with her mamma’s, and gave much amusement to all, and 
about the same time she drew a bouquet with ink, that was 
considered very ingenious indeed. The parents looked 
with some surprise and pleasure on the pursuits and tastes 
of their family, but appear to have taken no very active 
measures to cultivate or encourage them ; in fact, there 
was very small opportunity for cultivation of any kind. 
Most of the district schools of that period scarcely deserved 
the name ; sometimes they were held three months in the 
year, or two months, sometimes not at all ; and when open, 
were not. unseldom conducted by those who had no great 
store of knowledge themselves, and less skill in communicat- 
ing it to others. Books were very scarce and dear ; a com- 
mon family library usually consisted of a Bible, psalm-book, 
almanac, perhaps two or three primers and spellers, and 
po'ssibly an old dog-eared arithmetic. But no works of gen- 
eral interest ; no newspapers, or periodicals of any kind, 
and some had no books at all, not even a Bible. A letter 
written during this “ dark age,” this famine of literature, to 
another State was recently read, wherein the writer asks the 
loan of a religious book ; “ alleging that it could not be 
bought or borrowed in Western Pa.,” says : ‘‘ Send it by the 
bearer of this letter, and I will return it in the same way.” 
Only think of sending three hundred miles to boiTOw a small, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


95 


well-ioorn volume ! But despite adverse circumstances, some 
minds will rise superior to them, can not be held in sloth 
and darkness, and of this order was Eowland’s, the eldest 
son of the T.’s. While many of his playmates were growing 
up in contented ignorance, gay and indifferent ; as the 
mothers complained, ‘tnever looking in a book when out of 
school, and forgetting during the long vacations all the lit- 
tle they had learned,’’ — he was entirely different. Never 
devoted to play, thoughtful beyond his years, reading and 
study were not his task, but his delight ; a hard lesson, a 
very knotty problem, he grappled with the keenest zest. 
This trait in his nature, this pleasure in meeting and over- 
coming obstacles, manifested itself even in infancy, and one 
of his first aspirations was to be a mighty climber ; and such 
an adept did he become, that while yet a small boy, it was 
his boast, that he had never seen the tree he could not 
climb.” There was one mate, Luke W^allace, nearly or 
quite as active as himself, and together, or alone, they 
roamed the forest,* gathering wild fruit, chasing small 
game, but above all else seeking ‘‘ hard trees ” to conquer ; 
a common one, with an average amount of limbs and knots, 
was quite beneath their notice. But once the all-conquer- 
ing heroes lost their laurels. On a bright October day, 
when most of the leaves had fallen, Luke called on his 
friend, and with a dejected air said : “Howland, yesterday 
I found the hardest tree you ever seen in your life.” 

“ Oh, I reckon not,” said Kowland, nonchalantly. 

“ Yes, but I did. Too hard a one ; we can’t git up it 
never.” 

“ Pshaw ! I’ll warrant I’ll go up in no time,” returned the 
valorous knight. “Where is it? Where is it? Just tell 
me that.” 


* He also gathered ginseng of his own accord, and sold it for his 
own pocket-money. 


93 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


« Why, Eowland, you can’t git up at all, I tell you ; I tried 
it all ’round, and it’s no use to go ag’in.” 

‘‘Now, Luke Wallace,” cried Eowland, excitedly, “you 
know as well as me, that I always do get up somehow, and I’m 
a-goin’ up this one. Where is it, I say ? ” 

“You can’t, you can’t ; and it’s ^way off in Morton’s 
woods, too,” said Luke. 

“ Well, who cares for that ? I’d go if ’twas twice as far. 
I’m off now.” 

And away they ran. A mile and a half were nothing to 
their nimble feet, and presently they brought up at the foot 
of a gigantic honey locust, fenced round, bristling at every 
point with its myriad spears and frowning defiance on the 
two midges at its foot. The bold little mountaineer stood 
aghast at this formidable spectacle. Never had he imagined 
so perverse a growth. Put hand or foot where he would, a 
thorn was ready for him, to scratch, and jag, and tear. It 
seemed the very porcupine of vegetable creation. After a 
careful reconnoissance on every side he was forced to con- 
sider his far-famed agility vain ; and with self-confidence 
and pride much abated, retired from the field in disgrace, 
followed by the triumphant laugh, and “ I told you so ; I 
told you so,” of his companion. 

As he grew older his love for reading increased more and 
more, and by his thirteenth or fourteenth year, he had read 
nearly every book that could be found in the settlement, 
old or new, grave or gay. But each new idea gained only 
made him wish for more ; every fresh view of science or 
literature only intensified the desire to take a still broader 
view ; and, at length, with his parents’ concurrence, he re- 
solved to foUow his inclination and commence a course of 
study. An English grammar, a lexicon, geography, gazetteer, 
and two or three volumes of ancient and modern history 
were among his first purchases ; and, aided by his father, 
he began them immediately, studjdng at night and in leis- 
ure hours, for business was not neglected. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


97 


Whereyer he went a book generally accompanied him, 
that every spare moment might be improved. At the mill 
he always kept one or more books, and often continued 
grinding and reading long, sometimes till two o’clock in the 
morning. Here he was frequently forced into involuntary 
recreation by neighboring lads who thought the mill a fa- 
mous place for loafing ; and on a rainy or idle day would 
saunter round for hours, jumping, wresthng, pitching quoits 
and such like, making study impossible, and sorely trying 
their young host’s politeness and patience. 

AVhenever he had fully mastered a subject, he bought 
books on a new one, and went through them till he under- 
stood that also. What time was spent on these preparatory 
studies is not known ; but at length the self-imposed task 
was finished, and for the first time he left home in search of 
a teacher. 

He went to L , and, with several divinity students, 

placed himself under the care of Dr. P., a Presbyterian 
clergyman of note, and apphed himself to languages and 
whatever else was necessary to a hberal education. 

His hbrary, now of respectable dimensions, was mostly 

left behind him while at L . This was an annoyance to 

his mother, for she felt it incumbent on her to preserve his 
treasures carefully, and this was not so easy among several 
active little people with busy fingers, not always clean. On 
one of his home visits she said, half reprovingly : 

“ Howland, you really ought to lock up your nice books be- 
fore you leave again, for these children are turning through 
them half the time, and will soil them, I daresay.” 

“Why, mother,” replied the kind, unselfish brother, 
“ they can get the books as often as they wish to read. 
That is what I want them to do. Read, children, all you 
choose, but do not soil or turn leaves down ; keep them 
nicely, but learn all you can before I take them away.” 

They were by no means loth to follow this advice, but 
5 


98 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


read almost every leisure minute, by night and day, and thus 
obtained a general knowledge, not only of all the best Eng- 
lish authors, but of classical literature while yet very young. 
And what they read they understood and retained. Rose 
and Elza delighted especially in poetry, and could quote 
many of the finest passages, ancient and modern, from 
Homer, Horace, and Virgil, down to Shakespeare, Dry den. 
Pope, and Young, quoted them often* (at threescore), pages 
on pages that they had learned from Rowland’s books when 
little girls. 


The medical opinion respecting Cordelia’s case proved 
correct ; health never returned, though the final blow was 
deferred for a season. She grew up pale and spiritual-look- 
ing, fail- and fragile as a flower ; yet suffering little pain, and 
often assisting in the lighter household duties, and occa- 
sionally riding or walking out. Much of her time was 
passed in reading and meditation, and in writing her own 
thoughts and those of others. 

Wliile her companions, gay and buoyant, were “ rejoicing 
in their youth,” and seeking after pleasure, she never joined 
their merry circle, but when they visited her she entertained 
them cheerfully, and listened smilingly to their bright plans 
and girhsh dreams of coming life, but added none of her 
own, well knowing that for her there was no future here. 
Sweetly resigned to the Master’s will, her days ghded 
calmly and noiselessly by. Seemingly there was only “ peace 
and safety”; but all knew it could not last. The friends, 
the invalid herself, felt that though silent and unseen, the 
dark angel was ever hovering near their threshold. 

While still going out, an old neighbor, Mr. Broadleigh, 
died, and Delia and her father were to attend his funeral 
on horseback. Mrs. T. was not going; but while her daugh- 
ter made ready for this, her last ride, sat by sadly musing, 
while looking on and watching her, as standing before the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


99 


glass, she dressed her hair, plaiting and winding the dark 
braids in graceful coils, and finishing with a knot of crim- 
son ribbon, donning her richest dress, and ordering her 
whole toilet with taste and care. 

The mother’s heart bled at the sight. ‘‘ Alas ! ” she sighed, 
“ how soon must her dress be the shroud ; and the fair face 
and bright hair be hidden in the dust ! ” 

Ever mindful of her child’s chief good, and fearing that 
she might be indulging thoughts unsuited to her situation, 
or in some degree be clinging to scenes so soon to know her 
no more, she impulsively exclaimed : 

Oh, Delia ! do not mind such trifles. Do not think so 
much about your dress. You are going to a funeral, and 
remember the next in our neighborhood may probably be 
your own.” 

What reply was made is not known ; but the prediction 
proved true. Only a few days, and near the old man’s 
mound appeared another, and beneath it slumbered the 
maiden of seventeen. Though so long expected, the end 
came at last unawares. It was a day in midsummer, and 
the invalid, seemingly about as usual, sat at her little table 
copying a religious poem, while Mrs. T. sat near her very 
busy, and much hurried with her sewing. Seeing her 
daughter apparently so strong and comfortable, she re- 
marked : 

“ Delia, if you feel able to sit and write so long, could you 
not sew a little for me ? ” 

And she replied, playfully, yet meaning it : 

“ Oh, no, mamma ; it’s much easier to write than sew ; in- 
deed, I can not help you much, if any, to-day 

Her mother said no more, but excused her at once; and 
she went on with her writing for an hour, perhaps ; then 
put it by, and lay down to rest awhile. But she never re- 
sumed it; for growing suddenly worse, she left her bed no 
more, and died the next day. Perfectly rational to the last. 


100 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and fully conscious of approaching fate, she awaited it with 
Christian resignation and singular calmness and courage 
for one so young. Half reclining on her pillows, she herself 
noted eoery change ; and with her own transparent on 

her pulse, watched and followed the life-current slowly retir- 
ing to its source. A short time after Delia’s death her 

brother, Ethan, was taken ill with a painful and lingering 
disease, induced, as the doctor supposed, by undue ex- 
posure at school, in excessive bathing and swimming, the 
water being too cold, and the time spent in it much too 
long for safety. But whatever the cause, the malady baffled 
all medical skill, and, after many months of great suffering, 
he too died, aged thirteen years, and was buried beside his sis- 
ter.* Poor Bessie, trembling and shrinking beneath repeated 
strokes, felt like one of old, “ I sink in deep waters ; all his 
waves go over me.” 

As already recorded, early ties had long been sundered ; 
all old and cherished associations swept away ; and now, 
that, for which she had suffered so much and forsaken all, 
her precious, her own fireside ring, had again and again felt 
the “ breaker’s wand,” till from many a broken link the per- 
ished gems had fallen. Of her own household band four 
were not. She was in bitterness for her first-born, — for all; 
yet, in the midst of her sorrow, she felt that her cup was 
not unmixed. Consolation mingled in its depths ; for was 
not He who had fixed the bounds of her habitation,” and 
appointed all her losses and trials, also her Maker, her Sav- 
iour, her Father, and Friend? Had He not given countless 
blessings, led her all her lifelong, and, above all else,. given 
her a sweet hope of immortality beyond this changing 

* Like Timothy, this dear hoy had, “ from a child, known the 
Scriptures.” Once, during his illness, while reading, or musing, on 
Phil, hi., he was heard murmuring: ‘‘Yes, ffls dross, and dung ; I 
count everything hut dross and dung, that I may win Christ, and he 
found in Him,” etc. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


101 


scene, and of blessed reunion with those she wept, where 
death and parting were unknown? for she had never yet 
been called to bear the untold agony of mourning without 
hope.” Of her babes, recalled e’er they had learned to lisp 
her name, none could doubt; and of those removed at a 
later period, so blameless had they been in life, so patient 
under suffering, so peaceful in death, so solemn and devo- 
tioiiil were the sentiments found among their private 
papers,* that she could not but believe that grace had 
touched their hearts, and robbed death of all his gloom and 
terror. And that, though too young and timid to speak 
much of their experience, or as yet present their names to 
the church below, they were already known in that above, 
and written in the ‘^Lamb’s book of life.” So, sorrowful 
and yet rejoicing, the mother gave them back to the Giver, 
and went softly on her way to fulfil the duties left, and 
gratefully prize the mercies still hers. But the lost ones 
were never forgotten. Through all after-years she spoke of 
them, and loved them still; and many a memento was kept 
and cherished in remembrance of those brief, sweet lives. 
Ajnong other things, there was a tree that Ethan had plant- 
ed, and watered, and tended with boyish pride, and still 
watched its increasing strength and vigor with care, while 
his own was passing away. Unlike its owner, it knew no 
early bhght, but lived; and throve, and season after season 
grewtaUer and stronger. Amd through all its long history, 
while branch, trunk, or root remained, it bore his name, and 
was called, even by new generations, “ Ethan’s pear-tree.” 


* Both copied many hymns, and also added serious thoughts of 
their own, in prose and verse. 


102 


ROSE Am) ELZA. 


CHAPTEE XXI. 

Sweet spring of life, of hope, and joy. 

Of careless mirth and glee ; 

From after-years, corroding cares. 

And sad experience free; 

Oh ! could’st thy sunny season last, 

How blissful life would be. 

** What are these, so withered and so wild in their attire? 


Whither have they vanished ? . . . . Would they had stayed.” 

But all the early hardships and trials of the family were 
passed before the younger children were born ; and of the 
later griefs they knew little or nothing, being too small to 
understand them. So, quite unshadowed by any sad, de- 
pressing influences, they grew free and light-hearted as the 
fawns on their native hills. Population was still sparse; and 
as almost every settler held a large tract, much of it still 
covered with deep forests, the few roads and bridle-paths 
were peculiarly dark and forbidding to the very young ; 
and thus the children of each family were in a great measure 
thrown on each other for amusement and companionship. 
The little T.’s were no exception to this rule (especially 
the girls), for Fred often engaged in wrestling and romps 
with the mill-boys. No rosy urchin in all the land was 
blessed with finer health or more buoyant spirits than he, 
and unlike his elder brother, Eowland, none did, or could, 
have had a more unbounded, irrepressible love of play. It 
was even hinted by some that he loved it better than work, 
but that is only tradition. His sisters, Eose and Elza, were 
ever at his side, and being the eldest, and naturally fond of 
pre-eminence, he was the acknowledged leader and legisla- 
tor in everything ; and there was no end to the quaint 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


103 


games lie originated, the whimsical laws he promulgated, 
and the penalties he annexed. But there was one game 
(taught by soAe of the old wives of the neighborhood) so 
outre that it might not be amiss to describe it. It was 
called, ‘‘Whistling for the Witches f and was played in this 
way: The company all formed in a circle around the broad 
hearth, seated according to their ages, and at a given sig- 
nal, the eldest gave a low whistle ; then the next eldest, and 
so on, till aU had performed ; then the first one whistled 
again, and so on ; and this was repeated over and over. 
And if aU the rites were observed with due decorum, the 
witch, lurking in some convenient cranny in the back wall, 
or up the chimney, was to answer in the same key, or per- 
haps rather shriller ; and possibly, if they piped and peeped 
with sufficient zeal, would even mount her broomstick and 
come whisking down among them. A love of the marvellous 
is innate, especially in the untutored mind ; and the neigh- 
boring bairns, and the more ignorant among the grown 
people, listened, awe-stricken and delighted, to this and 
similar stories. The T. children hstened, too ; and without 
exactly believing them, or forming any definite ideas on the 
subject, still keenly enjoyed the wild legends; repeated them 
to each other, and, as an exciting fireside game, often tried 
their own skill in raising the witches. 

One winter’s day, being left aU alone, they formed the 
magic circle, and proceeded with their incantations. Fred, 
of course, commenced, and round and round, back and 
forth, each played (or whistled) his part for some lengih 
of time. Then, hark ! What’s that ? All started to their 
feet, and staring at each other, began, Did you hear that ? 
What was that ? How did it sound to you ? Wliere did it 
sound?” as fast as their tongues could wag. There was 
but one opinion — aU had \eard a low whistle, just like 
theirs, and it came, all agreed, out of the back wall, or from 
behind it. The girls were terrified, but Fred being a brave, 


104 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


sturdy little rogue, and withal something of a philosopher, 
calmed them down. He confessed that it “ was strange ; 
he was startled himself, but then, maybe it #^asn’t anything 
much, or it was somebody trying to scare them ; guess 
they’d better sit down and play it over, and if there was 
another answer, they would all rush out like lightning, and 
like as not catch some boy sneaking behind the chimney.” 
This seemed a good plan, so all resumed their seats, and 
recommenced the exercises. Sure enough, pretty soon 
there was response No. 2, and rather louder than before. 
On the alert for discoveries, the whole trio were out like a 
flash behind the chimney, but there was no one there. 
Bound and round the house they ran, and searched, but 
could And nothing. They looked at each other in blank 
surprise, doubting what to think or do next. But presently, 
plucking up their sinking courage, they resolved to malve 
one more trial still, and sift the matter if possible, and back 
they marched and re-formed the broken circle. This time 
they had performed but a very few rounds, till for the third 
time, the answering signal sounded still louder, and (if any 
difference) nearer than before. And once more, with every 
sense aroused, out they dashed, and looked, and searched 
every nook and hiding-place around, but in vain. Without, 
all was silence and vacancy. No sign of man, or beast, or 
bird appeared. Nothing seemed to move or breathe in the 
deep solitude but themselves. Thoroughly frightened now, 
they dared venture no further ; but were fully convinced 
that they had been in communication with one of the fear- 
ful hags, or mahcious elves of song and story ; and solemnly 
joining hands, all agreed and vowed that they three would 
never, never more tempt the evil one, or any of his agents, by 
“ whistling for the witches,” and they resolutely kept their 
vow. What it was that frightened them they never discov- 
ered, nor did they ever hear it again. But as a popular 
author assures us, that “ witches were marvellously plenty 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


105 


in those days, and such events exceedingly common,” they 
might have been there as well as any other place ; but 
whether they really were, “ deponent saith not.” Doddridge 
says, “ The belief in witchcraft was prevalent in the early 
settlements of the West,” — ^he might as well have said 
evei'ywhere, for according to history, it was very wide- 
spread. “Nearly, if not all Christian lands had for ages, 
had laws for its suppression, and in all parts of Europe, 
persons had at different periods been tried, hanged, and 
burned for this (alleged) crime.” Doddridge devotes an entire 
chapter of his “ Notes,” to describing the power and malice 
ascribed to these “Weird Sisters” in West Pa., in “inflict- 
ing strange, incurable diseases on women, children, and 
brutes ; laying spells and curses on guns and other things. 
And lastly, on the ‘ Lords of Creation ’ even ; for they 
were by no means exem23t, being very frequently changed 
by the witches into horses, saddled, bridled, and ridden at 
full speed over hill and dale to their frolicks and other 
places of rendezvous.” But they were invariably returned 
to their own forms and their beds before day ; and many 
a poor unfortunate found himself so stiff and sore in the 
morning, from his forced double-quick marches the pre- 
vious night, as to be quite unfitted for the duties of the 
day. There were various cases in this immediate vicinity 
(S,outh Union), ascribed to this agency. One morning, Mr. 
J., calling on a neighbor early, found him still in bed, and 
complaining of general lassitude, and soreness in all his 
joints. His “ Guid wife ” hastened to explain. “Ah! Mr. 
J.,” she said, pityingly, “poor Jack had a bout with the 
watches last night, and is almost worried out ; must rest 
some to-day, as he travelled all night.” Her caller had a 
natural “ fund of infidelity ” on the subject, strengthened 
by considerable reading and travel, but he did not dare to 
smile or gainsay the story ; it would only have given offence, 
and done no good. Then there was a strange malady 
5 * 


106 


ROSE Al^D ELZA. 


among the cattle, on the H. farm, in this same district. In 
the evening the herd would be feeding in the meadows, 
seemingly in perfect health ; in the morning, one would 
be lying dead, in the most singular position imaginable, but 
without the least mark of violence or symptom of disease. 
And this happened repeatedly, four or five times in one 
year, and always with exactly the same circumstances. 
After due examination by all the counsellors around, it was 
pronounced positively a malignant case of elf-shooting. 
Some of the savants professed to find the witches’ bullets, 
that had somehow entered, and caused instant death, mth- 
out leaving a mark on the surface. Mr. H., the owner, was 
advised to send for a wizard at once, lest he should lose 
his whole herd, for, singularly enough, the male necroman- 
cers were always represented as kind and useful, and using 
their great skill to undo the mischief their sisters in the 
‘‘ black aii ” had done (a likely story this, to be sure, and a 
fine comphment to our sex). There were also several cases 
of such strange and grievous disorders among the people, 
that the regular physicians could find no clue to their cause 
or cure. What others did is not known, but one (known 
intimately by the T.’s), having exhausted all common means, 
felt sure her child was possessed, or under a spell, and 
summoned the elders of the church, hoping that prayer and 
psalm might exorcise the demon. 

A volume might be filled with the phases of the disease. 
The astonishing posturing and contortions of the patient, 
the knots and hoops into which the limbs, and sometimes 
the whole body, were thrown ; the feats performed all un- 
unconsciously; the dangers passed through like a somnam- 
bulist, all unharmed. A truthful description of the half 
would be incredible and will not be attempted. Eventually 
a witch-master thirty or forty miles distant was consulted. 
He, unlike the common blundering M.D.’s, understood the 
case, and decided on the proper treatment in a twinkling. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


107 


“ The child was bewitched, and they must do thus and so, 
or death would soon ensue, for the spell was a very heavy 
one.” He also gave directions for the treatment of the 
witches, describing them so as to suit almost any poor old 
crone in the neighborhood, and two or tliree haggard, 
homely old creatures suffered for it — found themselves 
looked on askance, subjected to unwonted contempt, and 
gruffly denied when they asked to beg or borrow any arti- 
cle from this family, or from most others who were having 
trouble of any kind. But more merciful than the New 
England folks, and many another polished race, the Fayette 
Countians never executed suspected persons, though they 
did occasionally hang one in effigy, or shoot one’s portrait 
with a sileer bullet The T. children saw and heard all these 
and countless other stoiies much more thrilling, and though 
their parents discountenanced and laughed at the idea, they 
felt more than ever convinced that they surely once heard a 
witch, whether they ever saw one or not. 

Occasionally, though rarely, the sisters left their beautiful 
hermitage, and went out to visit some of the children of the 
settlement, and a description of two or three of these trips 
has been handed down. One afternoon in autumn they 
took their way down one of those dim, shady bridle-paths 
before mentioned, to spend a few hours at the Sloan farm. 
Here there was a number of hvely lads and lasses, who re- 
ceived and welcomed them with delight, and spared no pains 
to entertain and amuse them. Among mates so many and 
so merry, time passed quickly, and when Mrs. S. called them 
in to a hospitable supper at sundown, and remarked that 
the cows should be up for milking, the youngest saw that 
their charming playtime was ended, and the guests must be 
leaving very soon. Bat happily about this time s, friendly 
drizzle began to patter down, and was hailed with joy by 
the Sloan bairns. “ There, it’s raining ! • Good ! good ! 
You can’t go home ! ” they exclaimed. Bose, the elder 


108 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


of the guests, suggested sadly that it didn’t rain much.'' 
‘‘ Oh, but it’s a-goin’ to,” they returned. See how 
black it is. There it comes now, harder and harder.” And 
so it did, and rained more or less most of the time till 
dusk, though never heavily. They stay all night. No- 
body would punish or scold them when it was pretty wet, 
and they coaxed them so, — “ The Sloans said,” etc. 

The visitors were in a strait. They had never been ac- 
customed to going or staying without permission, and felt 
that the evening was not bad enough to be a sufficient ex- 
cuse — hardly. “ But then it did keep raining some — a little 
bit, anyhow. Maybe mamma wouldn’t expect them, or care 
much.” And finally the resolution of “ don’t go home till 
morning,” so cordially and clamorously moved by many 
voices, passed, and they consented to remain. 

The house of their host, like most dwellings of that day, 
was not a very pretentious mansion — had no great amount 
of spare room when all the family were congregated. So the 
children left it to their elders, and betook themselves 
to the still-house for sufficient space to carry out the various 
plans of the evening. That things might be done properly, 
the old building was subjected to considerable renovation. 
The barrels and casks were rolled some to one side and 
some to the other, and some were turned clear outside for 
the nonce. Benches and stools were dusted, the litter swept 
up, the cobwebs down, and as it had grown chilly, a wood 
fire was kindled that was soon blazing broad and high,” 
snapping and roaring hilariously, and lighting and cheering 
every dark, dingy nook with its glow. Many young, eager 
hands made but play of house-cleaning, and that finished, 
the sport commenced in earnest. The orchestra whistled 
and sung inspiringly, and beat a resounding accompaniment 
on an empty beer-cask or two. Some clapped their hands 
in approval and encouragement, and marched in time to the 
music. Several broke into a regular fandango, and one or 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


109 


two boys, as self-elected marshals, called figures and shout- 
ed commands that nobody obeyed, and each and all laughed 
and chattered continuously, like a town meeting of crows or 
blackbirds. All w^as mirth and jollity, and the small carni- 
val was progressing famously, when suddenly the door 
opened, and, with coat buttoned to the chin, shawls on arm, 
and lantern in hand, who should enter but papa T. A more 
unexpected or unwelcome apparition could scarcely have 
been imagined. It quieted and sobered the noisy, rollick- 
ing little crew in a trice, and every one felt frightened or 
foohsh, and gazed at the fioor, or looked sheepishly at his 
neighbor. Yet Mr. T. was no sour misanthrope, averse to 
innocent recreation at proper times and places ; but he w^as 
naturally grave, and opposed to wild, uproarious revelry. 
Besides, he evidently thought there had been no very stren- 
uous efforts made to reach home at the appointed time, and 
being a tolerably strict disciphnarian, all evasion of the law 
without a good reason met with small favor from him. 

So, the meeting commenced so auspiciously w^as adjourned 
sine die, and the little truants, shawled and hooded, were 
gallanted home with a kind, yet grave and silent manner 
(which they well understood signified displeasure, or, at least, 
disapprobation) and delivered in safety to their mother, 
who was also somewhat displeased, for she had been expect- 
ing them anxiously for hours. 


CHAPTEK XXn. 

Happy childhood with its ‘ wished-for morrows, 

And glad yesterdays.’ No dark forebodings 
Of the future ; no sad memories of the past.” 

** Rosemary for remembrance, and pansies, that’s for thought.” 

Some time after the StiU-house Party ” had closed in dis- 
grace, the two sisters were sent on another visit. On a 


110 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


green hillside, three miles or more west of the T.’s, and di- 
rectly on the road to M the H/s had located. Mrs. 

H. was a distant relative, and a very dear friend of Bessie’s, 
and it was to her house the children went. This jaunt 
differed almost every way from the other. Instead of a nar- 
row bridle-path, they followed the broadest and best wagon- 
road, or one of the broadest and most important then laid 
out in Fayette. The season was not autumn, but spring, or 
early summer; the distance was greater, the time spent and 
allowed much longer. 

The H.’s were serious and religious, and their family 
small, and mostly or wholly composed of girls. So here, 
though they had a very nice, pleasant time, it was by no 
means so gay or noisy as the former visit. There were no 
mates here exactly suited in size to the guests ; but the 
two youngest girls, Hetty and Susan, of twelve and fourteen, 
were nearest their age, though the youngest of them was 
several years older than Elza. However, this discrepancy 
brought no alloy. They seemed to have been very happy 
together ; but what games were played, stories told, and 
rambles taken, is not known, except one walk in the garden, 
where the visitors saw for the first time the tricolored vio- 
let (then a very rare fiower). And while they hung with 
childish ecstasy over the bed, mui*muring soft words of ad- 
miration and endearment, marking every hue, the royal pur- 
ple, the blue, the gold, blended together, and softly strok- 
ing the dainty velvet petals, the smiling hostess passing by 
completed their bliss by telling them they should have a 
root of it covered with buds and blossoms to carry home 
and plant in their own little flower-bed. 

The second day of their stay was Sunday ; and though 
Rose and Elza had been accustomed to attend public wor- 
ship from earliest infancy (probably their visiting suits were 
not thought suitable for church, or had become soiled in 
play ; at all events, for some reason they were not expect- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Ill 


ing to go), and on this lovely Sabbath morning were en- 
gaged with the younger sister talking and assisting her with 
her necessary chores, when all three were surprised by seeing 
Hetty, who had finished her work, coming down-stairs in 
her fresh, white dimity skirt and short gown, best prunella 
slippers and hat, with fan and kerchief in her hand, every- 
thing nearly ready for going out. 

“ Why,” exclaimed Susan, “ she’s going to meeting, girls.” 

And Hetty replied, gently but firmly : 

“I am so, of course'' 

And go she did, leaving the three little girls to their own 
refiections, 

Hetty H. was a prompt, industrious, careful, sweet-tem- 
pered maiden, fond of her young friends, loving to make 
them happy, but loving the house of God,* and the tender, 
solemn messages of her pastor too well to ever absent her- ♦ 
self unnecessarily. Whoever else was absent, visiting or re- 
ceiving visits, walking, riding, settling accounts, writing let- 
ters, or busied with other mere worldly matters, to while 
away the sacred hours and save common time, Hetty re- 
membered the Sabbath day to keep it holy, studied His 
Word at home, and constantly filled her place to hear it ex- 
plained in public. Nor had she discovered, as some in this 
enlightened age have, that unpleasant weather or slight in- 
disposition were more dangerous far, on Sundays, than on 
week-days. Oh, no, this “old-fashioned girl” innocently 
supposed that if the weather or ailment did not hinder work, 
it should not hinder worship, as God’s day and service were 
surely of as much consequence as man’s. In short, she had 
been taught that “religion was the chief concern”; that 
preparing for eternity was a business of infinitely more im- 
portance than preparing for this brief life ; but that both 
were duties, both divine commands that did not conflict. 


*i. e., the Tent Church when it was a tent only. 


112 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and that there was a proper time and place allowed for 
both. 

Susan was more thoughtless, or more temporizing, for, 
though equally well taught and trained, she was not at all 
unwilling to stop at home, and with smooth politeness suit 
the wishes or convenience of her guests. 

Early in the week (bearing the promised flower roots) 
they returned home, and as the H.'s soon after removed to 
another State, the visit was never repeated ; but they had 
a pleasing souvenir of it season after season in the ever 
bright, ever charming pansy for many a year. 

Whether the elder sister, in all the dignity of her “ three 
times three,’’ and two trips to the straggling village, enjoyed 
these homely visits so keenly at the time, or so often re- 
called them afterward, is uncertain ; but Elza, who had 
scarcely been in half a dozen different houses in all her six 
years, and to whom everything was new and striking, re- 
membered both long after many far later and more exciting 
parties had been forgotten. 

Many a time the care-worn matron would laugh when 
happening to think of what a terrible marplot papa was that 
night, stumbling in on the still-house romps ; and even in 
old age she would sometimes mention “ the day ” or “ the 
time when mamma sent Rose and me to H.’s,” the 
walk in “the garden,” the “first pansy,” or something else 
connected with the long-past pleasure. But nothing in 
either jaunt impressed her so deeply, or was remembered 
with so much approbation as the earnest, uncompromising, 
and yet unobtrusive piety of the youthful Christian Hetty. 


“ Oh ! the days we went a-gypsying, 

A long time ago.'' 

Never did Arabs, Tartars, or any other nomadic race more 
love their free, wild, lawless life than did these three back- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


113 


woods urchins love and revel in the fresh, glorious freedom 
of theirs. During the pleasant season they hterally hved 
out of doors, rambled at will over hill and dale, and held 
daily and endearing intercourse with primeval nature. 

The bosky-beck was a frequent and favorite resort, and 
while Fred fished, swam, or sailed his boats in its limpid 
waters, the girls would sometimes join with him, sometimes 
watch his sports, while they played at housekeeping on its 
shady banks. But often all three left it awhile for other 
points, and, in quest of pleasure and adventure, climbed the 
high hills, penetrated the glens, scaled the bold ledges, and 
explored the caverns. In these dimly-lighted caves, Fred, 
with the instincts of a boy, would be poking and peering 
into the holes and fissures for dens of rattlesnakes, critically 
examining the tufts of hair adhering to the jagged rocks, 
and the footprints on the sandy floor, thrilling the girls with 
vague hints about the strangeness of the tracks, the terrible 
beasts that might have made them, and when they might 
return. But though they often found a venomous snake in 
their rambles, they never saw' any animal larger than a fox 
or ground-hog, though under cover of darkness a saucy bear 
sometimes ventured dowm to the farm-yard, and the howl 
of the wolf was common music at night. 

But much as the children all enjoyed this gypsy life, Fred 
was really much more practical than romantic. In all their 
strolls he kept a sharp lookout for berries, nuts, and game ; 
and though he admired the tall, grand old trees, climbed 
into their boughs, or sat under their shadow with dehght, 
he could not forget that they were my papa’s big trees. 
What logs they will cut ! What heaps and heaps of lumber 
they’ll make when papa has them felled and hauled to our 
saw-mill.” The sisters were different, for though they, too, 
appreciated all kind nature’s gifts, from the aromatic win- 
tergreen, whose scarlet berries they gathered from beneath 
the lingering snow's of spring, to the grapes, hips and haws 


114 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


of latest autumn. Yet they also possessed that inborn 
devotion to herself — that they felt aU her endless charms, 
and noted every beautiful thing, from the loftiest pine to 
the tiniest moss and lowliest fern, and loved it because it 
was lovely. At that early d^ tourists were never seen, 
and mountain picnics and other pleasure parties quite un- 
known. So their sylvan haunts were seldom invaded,. but 
year after year were filled with beauty almost for them 
alone. Hidden away from the rude winds of March, they 
found in sheltered nooks the first pale, tiny blue-caps 
and creep-vine, harbingers of the coming bloom. With 
changeful April skies came the ranunculus, forget-me-nots, 
and wind-flowers. In May they gathered the red and yel- 
low lady’s-slipper, the fragrant wood-pink, violets, butter- 
cups, primroses, cowslips, and that darhng of the forest,” 
mete for a cherub’s crown, the exquisite traihng arbutus. 
In June, the sweet wild honeysuckle, the crimson and white 
calmia, the royal laurel, the delicate pipisisiway, and the 
unique Indian pipe. These and others in countless profu- 
sion, fresh and unsullied from the hand of the great Giver, 
yielded them a feast of beauty the season through, and had 
they been old enough to search for these then, baby Elza 
never need to have cried or suffered for garden flowers.” 

In all his sports and plans, Fred had a most doughty co- 
adjutor in Rose ; for he scarcely swung higher, won a race 
mere easily, struck a mark more surely, or ventured much 
farther in anything than she ; and in exploring and botan- 
izing she often excelled him — and, like other eminent pio- 
neers, more than one locality still bears her name as its first 
discoverer, as “Rosie’s Great Laurels,” “Rosie’s Spring,” 
etc. They knew the English or Indian names and the use 
of a great many plants : but of course there were numbers 
that they knew nothing of ; and whenever one of these was 
found, the curious, fearless Rose would insist that all should 
halt and at once use all possible means to become acquaint- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


115 


ed with it. But as Elza was three years younger, and 
rather cautious and timid, and Fred three years older than 
herself, and somewhat stubborn and indifferent, the investi- 
gation was principally left to her. And she would proceed 
(if not in a very scientific, at least in a very business-like 
manner) to examine every part, and by touch, taste, and 
smell, satisfy herself as to its qualities ; though it must be 
confessed that, hke other odd geniuses, she sometimes 
reached conclusions that common, plodding naturalists 
would scarcely have stumbled on in an age. For instance, 
one day, as they were walking in a distant clearing, they 
came upon a thriving tomato-vine in fiill bearing. Now 
here was a plant strange and handsome enough to stay all 
their steps and fill them with admkation. Here was fruit 
of all sizes and colors, from tiny green berries to large, ripe, 
mellow apples, and also buds and blossoms, and all growing 
oii one stem. While the others stood looking on and won- 
dering, touching gingerly and smelling cautiously, Kose had 
been scrutinizing stem, leaf, fruit, and flower, and now, true 
daughter of Eve, determined, as was her wont, to test it 
by taste. So, boldly snatching one of the fairest apples, she 
carried it to her ruby hps ; but scarcely had they closed on 
it till she flung it from her in disgust, and, cleansing teeth 
and tongue with all speed, exclaimed: “The nasty thing is 
p’ison, deadly prison. It would MU us to eat one. I know, 
by the horrid taste.’’ 

But much as they desired to, they could not live wholly 
in the wildwood ; there was a winter to every year, rainy 
days in every summer, and some work that even small hands 
could do»; and mamma, dreading idleness, strove to keep 
them busy with “ work, books, or play.” Like aU kind chil- 
dren, they were fond of animals, and Bessie allowed them 
to have several pets ; and as they loved freedom and pure 
air so much themselves, they never, denied them to their fa- 
vorites. Not one of them ever pined behind prison bars, or 


116 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


heard of cage or wheel ; but free and happy as their kindred 
of the forest, roamed at will. One pet was a chipmunk, 
with its brilliant eyes and glossy coat of black, brown, and 
white, — a lovely, sportive creature, that feared, or affected 
to fear, but one evil in life, — the cat, and with her a game 
of pursuit and escape was daily played, though probably as 
much in fun as fear. Over the round work-table, under the 
looking-glass, hung one of those old-fashioned, useful arti- 
cles, a wall-case, with its several oval leaves of soft-pinked 
flannel for pins and needles, and its eight or ten gay pockets 
for thread, thimbles, wax, emery, etc. AVhile gamboling 
round, indoors or out, no sooner did Chip espy Grimalkin 
approaching, no matter at how sober, unconcerned a pace, 
but he would dash into the room with great speed and 
bustle ; scamper wildly across the floor, run up into a chair, 
and from that to the stand, from the stand to the case, and 
nestling safely down in one of the snug pockets, hiding all 
but the round ears and hazel eyes, would peer slyly down on 
the bewildered foe with a mingled expression of fear and 
triumj)h, shyness, bravado, and self-complacency, exceeding- 
ly droll and amusing to all but Tabby. Its charming antics 
won no smile from her; while the children laughed and 
cheered, she would only cast a sour, contemptuous glance or 
two on the conceited midge in its swaying air-castle, and re- 
fusing to see either wit or wisdom in the proceeding, would 
march slowly to her mat, and gravely washing her face, set- 
tle down to forget her annoyance in sleep. At a later period 
Elza had two gray squirrels. They had chambers up-stairs, 
and as often as the family sat down to breakfast, two pairs 
of bright eyes, tw'o sets of velvet paws appeared at the stair 
door (just behind the table), betokening that the second- 
floor lodgers were astir, and calling for theirs. And the 
sx^arkling eyes would watch every motion, and the tiny 
hands reach down further and further, begging and coax- 
ing for a bit of this and a taste of that, in every pretty, win- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


117 


ning way tlieir cunning brains could suggest. It was the 
family pastime to cater for tlieir wants and watch their 
charming table manners, sitting up with such dignity, re- 
ceiving and holding their food so gracefully, and nibbling 
so daintily. They disliked visitors, yet not so much as to 
neglect their meals when any were present, but filled their 
perch and begged as persistently as ever. But however 
hungry they were, if a stranger offered to help them to 
an^dhing, they would draw back with great coolness and 
promptly dechne it, without thanks either ; and if too much 
insisted on, would give a quick, impatient httle growl, and 
possibly a slight nip also. 

Almost every fine morning they would leajD to the top of 
the nearest fence, and gallop away on some business of their 
own, to call on their backwoods cousins or something, and 
at sundown or before night would be seen returning by the 
same route, when two or three fields distant. With their 
bushy tails aloft, whisking in the wind, home they came 
rushing, glad and gay. They quite disdained the ground, 
seldom touched it, but invariably travelled by rail, and 
generally at full speed. For a long season they were the 
treasured household pets, but one hapless morn the pretty 
innocents came frisking down-stairs, leaped on to their railroad 
as usual, and went merrily out to spend the day, and were seen 
no more. Their fate was never known, but it was supposed 
some idle Nimrod, prowling around with his hateful gun, 
had made them his prey. 


CHAPTEE XXm. 

** These are our fellows of a lower race.” 

Besides wild pets of various kinds, there were several do- 
mestic ones that were held in high favor and remembered 
long. One was a house-dog, with delicate limbs and glossy 


118 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


coat of black and brown ; an engaging little fellow, full of 
affection and sagacity. Though not exactly a shepherd-dog, 
his greatest forte was in driving and guiding stock, especially 
the milch cows, and so fond was he of this em]3loyment 
that he could scarcely be persuaded to wait till the proper 
time. If not busied at something else, by four o’clock p.m. 
he would begin to watch every motion of his mistress, start 
at every sound of her voice, foUow her from room to room, 
from house to garden, wagging his tail and gazing into her 
face with eyes full of questioning and entreaty, and when 
she would say, ‘‘ Turk, it is too early yet, you must wait an 
hour at least,” he would hang his head, and with a despond- 
ent air, lie down beside her. 

Pretty soon he would rise and begin coaxing again, and 
Bessie would repeat, “ Too soon, too soon ; that hour is not 
half gone yet,” and he would again lie down dejected. But 
poor Turk had never learned his tables, and could not be- 
lieve it took so many minutes to make an hour, and in five 
or ten more would present his petition ‘ again to have it 
again rejected. But at last some one would say, “ It is five 
o’clock now, old fellow ; start for your cows.” And he 
would bound up with delight and be gone in a moment. 

Often he had a mile and a quarter to go, and much woods 
to search through, but unlike the J ersey milk-maid, he never 
neglected one, black, white, red, or dun, but sought each 
and all. Sometimes (persons who saw him at his evening 
work, said) one, two, or all of the cattle would be playful or 
unruly, toss their saucy heads scornfully, refuse to leave the 
pasture, or run in the wrong direction. But if they were 
self-willed, their keeper was prompt and firm, and however 
perverse they were, by patience and perseverance he always 
came off conqueror, though he was frequently obliged to 
run fast and far, bark and growl vociferously, and even nip 
their heels or noses gently. But no sooner did they become 
docile than he would calm down too; let bygones go by, and 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


119 


drive them slowly and silently along the beaten path; see 
them safely home in the barn-yard, and then in the sweet 
consciousness of duty well done, lie down to watch the 
milking, while he rested on the grass. 

At another time, one of the family owned a dog some- 
what larger than Turk, called King. He was black and 
white, with a broad, full forehead, a pair of large, sensible- 
eyes, and two black spots immediately above them, called 
by dog-fanciers “mock eyes”; and these, with a white ring, 
some two inches broad, encircling his neck, gave him rather 
a singular and striking appearance. He was a mongrel, 
owning terrier, bull, and shepherd blood ; and with proper 
training, might have been famous. As it was, he seemed to 
have good judgment about the worth of property, and the 
danger of losing it both by theft and accident ; and un- 
derstood a great deal that was said. Whenever his master 
hunted, he attended him, and gladly assisted ; but did not 
hke so well to go alone, but would when told to. His mas- 
ter had only to stand in the door, and pointing toward the 
forest, say, “ King 1 you go to the woods and hunt a squir- 
rel, or something.” The dog would start up, look earnestly 
at the speaker, then glance toward the woods, then back 
at his master, — understanding perfectly, but hngering 
irresolutely, hoping he would conclude to accompany him. 
Then the command would be repeated, “ Go on, go your- 
self and hunt.” And he would start at once on a run. 
Very soon something would be seen, or scented, and the 
chase would begin ; sometimes the game would be taken 
and fetched home, but oftener it was treed, and he would 
be heard ever so long barking and whining at the foot of 
the tree. As game was plenty, he generally found some ; 
but whether rewarded or not, he always obeyed the order 
literally, — “ Went and hunted.” 

He was exceedingly watchful ; nothing transpired on the 
premises without his cognizance, and everything he thought 


120 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


at all important was made known. One winter’s night after 
the family had retired, they heard King barking loudly at 
the barn, then at their door, presently at the barn again, 
then between the two, as he ran back and forth. But think- 
ing it was only some stray stock probably that had broken 
in, or something else that could wait till morning, no one 
cared to leave his warm bed to answer the summons. But 
as the noise went on, and on, with no sign of abatement, 
the master at last arose and went out. As soon as the dog 
espied him he bounded gladly to his side, then ran toward 
the barn again ; looking back, barking, whining, and be- 
coming more and more excited, the nearer they ajDproached 
the stock- yard. Once there, the source of all the careful 
creature’s disquiet was soon revealed. A small straw stack 
had toppled over, half burying, and completely fastening 
down a fine young cow in its fall. The safiocating ava- 
lanche was soon removed ; but the faithful watcher’s call had 
been neglected too long, the poor brute was entirely dead. 
King knew all about bringing the cows too ; and did it 
handsomely, generally. But having a dash of true mascu- 
line independence (not to say indolence), he did not alto- 
gether approve of female government, and sometimes pro- 
tested against it. This was especially the case of rainy 
mornings, when bidden to “ go fetch the cows.” Then he 
nearly always went slowly, and reluctantly, and if he found 
they were far off, the grass very wet, or the rain increasing, 
he would stop in some shed, or return home without them ; 
evidently thinking that somebody might go, wdio could 
change his wet coat for a dry one easier than' he. Some- 
times the girls could shame’ and scold him into a second 
and successful effort ; but if the master came out, and in 
clear, certain tones gave the order, he w^as sure to go, and 
attend to the business thoroughly, however disagTeeable 
the weather. He was very generous, peaceable, and for- 
giving too, and needed to be, for when he first came to his 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


121 


new home, he found a real step-fatherly canine in the ken- 
nel. Old Shep had long been highly prized for many good 
traits, — yet his temper had always been rather imperious 
and moody. He had no attachment for children, but some 
contempt ; was quick to anger, and slow to forgive. When 
preparing to go out, an order to remain at home ” was a 
three days’ affront, and so on, and now age and infirmity 
being added to his natural ill-disposition, it was simply 
abominable. The round, plump, rollicking puppy, with a 
heart full of love and gladness, strove by every possible 
means to gain the favor, and live in harmony with this 
cross-grained creature, but almost in vain. Do what ho 
vould, the surly curmudgeon was seldom pleased. King 
often tried to hunt with him, — -to play around him, and 
with him, — to hck and fondle him. But Shep generally 
despised his assistance, snarled viciously at his play, and 
sourly repelled his caresses, and often whipped him sav- 
agely, for no fault at all. Then the poor young stranger, 
bruised and sad-hearted, would turn away to some obscure 
corner, and lying down, homesick and discouraged, leave 
him to his own hatefulness ; but ere long — forgiving every- 
thing, and longing for companionship, — he would steal 
softly back to the tyrant to offer his blandishments, and 
again • attempt to interest and amuse him by his gambols. 
Sometimes the old fellow would relent, and treat him 
decently, and even somewhat cordially for a little time, till 
tiie evil, jealous spirit suddenly returning, he would turn 
on him without cause or warning, and bite and cuff him as 
before. 

But spite of all his blows and snubbing, the young one 
Hved, throve, and rapidly approached maturity; and before 
Shep knew or imagined such a thing could be, he found 
himself no longer supreme. King was taller and broader, 
swifter and stronger. In everything King was first. Now 
was the time for revenge, when a common cur would have 
6 


122 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


enjoyed repaying with interest the insults of his helpless 
puppyhood. But the noble brute took no such advantage, 
but courteously shared bed, board, eveiything with his an- 
cient oppressor, as though he had been his dearest friend. 
But all this did not satisfy the grumbling eld. Though ' 
nearly superannuated in body and mind (and a dog has a 
mind), he was just as jealous, proud, and ambitious as in 
youth, and could never forget his lost place and fame. Scores 
of times he determined to reconquer his world and put his 
rival down ; and when these tempers rose it was instructive, 
as well as amusing, to see how earnestly King strove to quell 
them, and reasoned with and coaxed him to settle dovm 
without a conflict ; thus many a time he richly earned a 
suit of drab or a medal from the Peace Society, so averse 
was he to war and bloodshed, so anxious to bury grudges 
and Hve in love and good-fellowship. But even his non- 
combativeness did not extend so far as to prevent self-de- 
fence. When all persuasion proved vain, and the old dotard 
rushed furiously to the onslaught, he stood like a rock to 
receive him ; and by a few easy bites and light but well-di- 
rected cuffs, quickly bore him to the ground, and stood 
guard over him till he promised good behavior. Then, in- 
stantly releasing him, he would receive him back to favor, 
and without the least triumph or mahce walk quietly away, 
or lie down serenely beside him, as though nothing had 
happened. And thus they continued, Shep pleasant one day 
and fiercely quarrelsome the next ; King brave and strong, 
but peaceable, forbearing, and forgiving' to his dying day. 

Old Watch* was another pet, but if he ever had a baby- 
hood none around knew when or where, for he wore a 
leather collar bristling with sharp spikes, and was as bold 
and large and black as a dog could well be when he came to 
N/s a stray. He was a powerful fellow ; honest and watchful. 


* Watch did not exactly belong to the T.’s, but to a near friend. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


123 


and a little odd, two or three ways. When he accompanied 
his new master to market or about the farm, he never ran 
before or behind the wagon, but always beneath it ; and 
when it stopped lay down under it, and guarded both it 
and the team ; and it would have gone ill with any one who 
had attempted to meddle with either. Then he had, by 
some means, imbibed a most bitter and inconsistent preju- 
dice against every person of his own complexion ; and it 
was more than the family could easily do to control him 
when a black man came to the house, or even passed along 
the road near by. If encouraged or permitted, he would 
have wounded and probably killed the unoffending crea- 
tures ; for, like certain politicians and legislators. Watch 
sincerely believed that the colored race “ had no rights that 
he was bound to respect.” He was somewhat magisterial 
at home too, and kept a sharp eye on the children, especi- 
ally so when the elders were away. One Sabbath morning 
in summer, all being absent but Barbary, a girl of eight or 
nine years, and Bob, the chore-boy, still younger. Watch 
felt himself, if not “ monarch of all he surveyed,” at least 
the oldest and wisest of the party, and marched around very 
pompously. Bob N. was slight and pale, with short, straight, 
light brown hair, thin lips, handsome teeth, a pair of shrewd 
blue-gray eyes, and a slender, longish nose between them. 
A quick, wide-awake, nimble-footed urchin, always experi- 
menting, inquiring, and poking into everything, and as rest- 
less and inquisitive as a tame raccoon, was Bob ; and on this 
glorious June morning, with no tasks to perform, and none 
to control, reprove, or repress, he felt free as an uncaged 
bird, and his spirits “ rose amain.” And while Barbie, who 
had been more carefully trained, sat on the porch reading 
her Testament, and other books suited to the day; the new 
boy, who as yet knew almost nothing of its sanctity, and 
had probably never had an opportunity to learn, played all 
kinds of pranks, and tried a dozen different amusements. 


124 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


He hunted eggs in the old log barn and shed ; drove the 
cows and romped with the calves ; played with the kitten, 
chased the chickens and turkeys, and hissed at the geese. 
Then he rummaged the closet, and dragged a side of sole 
leather from its darkest corner to make a nice springy 
couch on the floor ; after trying its softness flve minutes or 
more, he sprang up again ; a happy thought had now struck 
him. He would just run out and catch a young pig, for 
a plaything and a bedfellow. Barbary and Watch both 
thought this of doubtful expediency ; and the former was 
so alarmed, that she dropped her books and ran out to bolt 
the gate behind him. But Bob cried out so earnestly 
against being fastened out, that she promised to stand by 
and unbar it as soon as he came with his prize. The un- 
suspecting piggies, plump and sleek — black, white, sandy, 
spotted, and speckled — ^lay piled one upon another in a 
sunny corner near, a bevy of “ sleeping beauties.’’ But the 
instant Bob grasped one of their number, the whole varie- 
gated, motionless heap broke into shrill cries, and disap- 
peared in the clover in a moment. The angry mother and 
all her clan, flew to the rescue with hideous uproar, and 
rushed at him with such wide-gaping mouths, that even his 
nimble heels were scarcely swift enough ; and Barbie ran 
and screamed, and Watch barked furiously. But through 
all the hubbub. Bob the valorous never faltered, but reached 
the yard in safety, banged the gate in the very jaws of the 
enemy, bolted it securely, and bore the small swine in tri- 
umph to his couch. But the little fellow, mistrusting his 
motives, or not appreciating them, rent the air with its yells, 
and struggled and kicked and bit with all its might, and 
made itself so utterly uncompanionable and disagreeable 
every way, that its disappointed benefactor soon lost all 
thought of adopting such an ungrateful, obstreperous cub, 
and gladly returned it to its anxious, wi^athful friends. 

After this conquest he rested awhile, and refreshed himself 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


125 


with a bountiful lunch and a cup of cold, sweet milk, and 
then came the ever-recurring query of busy brains like his, 
‘‘What next?” 

They were still on the long porch that extended the whole 
length of the house, and Bob, lying on his leathern bed 
gazing idly up at the stout rafters and beams, suddenly 
thought what a famous place one of them would be to place 
a swing, and at once announced that he was “ going to put 
one up.” 

Barbary rather timidly protested. Said “ he ought never 
to make a swing on Sunday ; and if he ought, he couldn’t, 
for there wasn’t nothing to make it of.” 

But he repHed promptly that he both could and would 
find something ; and going out to the shed, soon returned 
with all he thought necessary, and began the work. 

Barbie took no part, of course, but still sat quietly read- 
ing on the coolest end of the porch, or, rather, attempting 
to, for every minute or two her round eyes would be glanc- 
ing from her book to the unwonted scene before her. 

And Watch came and sat close beside her and eyed it too. 
The latter had not seemed particularly amiable with Bob 
all day ; probably thought his manners were getting too 
free and eas}^ for a new-comer, especially when the grown 
folks were all absent ; but there had been no serious rup- 
ture between them yet. 

But no sooner did this swing-making begin, than he be- 
came as alert as a first-class detective ; never left the spot 
or turned his head aside ; but sitting bolt upright, dressed 
in his heavy suit of black, looked as grave as a judge, and 
watched every motion with an air of importance and sus- 
picion laughable to see. At every creak of the boards or 
extra flourish of the straps and ropes he would half start 
from his seat, raise his bristles threateningly, or give some 
other token of uneasiness or disapproval. 

At length the last loop was adjusted, the last knot well 


126 


BOSE AND ELZA, 


tied, and the young artisan, casting a proud, fond look on his 
handiwork, gallantly invited Barbie to try it ; and when she 
firmly declined, he as promptly filled it himself, and soared 
away toward the rafters. But with the first motion of the 
machine. Watch’s black eyes flashed ominously, and, utter- 
ing a loud growl of disapprobation, he bounded after it, 
and, seizing the startled aeronaut, held him fast. Both 
children were frightened at first, but finding he was not 
hurt, only held a prisoner, they soon began to laugh at the 
situation, and, after some persuasion, the huge jaws relaxed, 
and Bob dismounted. 

Pretty soon he determined to make another attempt, but 
was not permitted. At last Watch made a compromise. 
Bob might sit on his new-fangled seat if he would sit per- 
fectly still. But not a yard, not a foot, should he swing. 
At the least swaying of the ropes the bristles would rise, and 
the great jaws close on him again like a vise. 

After a deal of coaxing, quite in vain, scolding was tried, 
but he did not scare worth a straw. On the contrary, his 
hair rose a little higher, and his teeth clinched a trifle closer 
than before, while a new hght darted from his eyes that 
warned him to desist. 

Then he turned to Barbie, urging her to try her influence 
or authority. 

Call the old brute away; pet him, hold him, do anything 
to keep him still.” 

And she, seeing that boy and dog were both waxing 
wroth, promised to “ do her best,” though in her heart se- 
cretly hoping she might fail ; for she, mischievous elf that 
she was, was so amused with the performance, that she 
much preferred that it should go on. To her disappoint- 
ment though, he came lumbering up at her call, and, seat- 
ing himself on the skirt of her dress, laid his shaggy head 
on her knee. But wiser than many a hero, he did not sleep 
there nor allow all her dallying to make him neglect 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


127 


duty, but still kept a vigilant eye on Bob, who was slowly 
and softly sidling toward the swing again. As he re-seated 
himself in it. Watch raised his head, and gave a low growl 
that said plainer than words : 

“ Is that boy going to disobey, I wonder ? ” 

Bob heard the warning note, and reminded Barbie of her 
promise “ to keep him still,” and she bade him “ wait till she 
could,” and, throwing her arms round his neck, redoubled 
her stroking and patting, and he seeing Bob sitting as quiet 
as though in his chair, making no sign of beginning the 
prohibited sport, smoothed his anxious brow, and seemed 
content. But the moment the thing was started, he broke 
from Barbie’s custody, and, springing on the offender as 
before, put a peremptory stop to the proceedings. Then 
she called him back, bhndfolded him with her hands, hug- 
ged and held him with aU her strength ; and Bob leaped 
hastily to his perch. But only once or twice had he swayed 
across the floor before the Argus-eyed Watch again broke 
away and arrested his motions ; and Barbie ran once more 
and coaxed the great marplot back to her corner. But at 
the first movement of the swing, back he raced, growling 
and snapping as viciously as ever. 

And so it went on, and on, tiU Barbie, almost forgetting 
“ ’twas Sunday,” laughed till her sides ached, and Bob, too 
vexed to see the joke, grew cross with e.very thing, stigma- 
tized the dog as a “ fool beast,” and openly charged Barbie 
with aiding and abetting the enemy instead of controlling 
him. 

At last, when about at his wits’ end, a new thought sug- 
gested itself. He would shut Watch up some place. So a 
nice tempting ham-bone was held above his head a minute, 
then flung down the cellar steps, whither he quickly followed, 
and was fastened down in a trice. The windows were bar- 
ricaded too, and' then, with a ringing shout of triumph. 
Bob rushed back to the porch and almost flew into his long- 
pined-for swing. 


128 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


And then, indeed, what feats were performed ! How the 
floor shook, how the beams creaked, and the roof re-echoed 
with gay laughter and loud huzzas ! He was a conqueror 
now, and no Roman general was ever prouder after a vic- 
tory, or half so merry as he. But in the midst of his up- 
roaiious jollity there was a scraping, thumping sound, then 
a loud bang, and before they could guess that jail was 
breaking up, the escaped captive burst on the stage. The 
swing was going at its highest speed, and, without pausing 
for blame or blessing. Watch swept after it like a whirlwind, 
seized the performer in mid-air, and, holding fast, was 
dragged and tumbled a dozen feet by the momentum. This 
rough reception did not improve his temper any, of coui'se, 
■and he growled so fiercely and looked so dangerous that 
Bob was fain to alight in haste. 

But having tested the excellence of his invention, he could 
not bear to quit it so soon, and after calming the old fellow 
doAvn a httle and soothing him with another tidbit or two, 
he attempted to coddle* and cajole him into allowing a little 
more sport. But Watch seemed to think there had been 
quite enough trifling with the law, and declined all fui-ther 
concession with great firmness and dignity. Voice, eyes, 
mien, everything said in a way not to be slighted, “No more 
swinging to-day, sir’’; and the strongest sentence in the 
language could not have made the case clearer, nor aU the 
king’s bench have decided it more positively. Bob scanned 
his countenance closely, and brave as he was, felt that it 
would be but foolhardiness to provoke and contend with 
the angry, determined brute further. So, chagrined and 
humiliated, he sat soberly down to meditate on his adven- 
tures and plan revenge ; threatening what Watch might ex- 
pect some day, when he “ growed a big man.” 

Whether he ever took the promised vengeance on his 
canine friend, is not known ; but he often remarked long 
afterward, “ I never liked old Watch very well after that day 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


129 


he wouldn’t let me swing, nor Barb’ry nuther, for I alwus 
thought she was glad of it.’ 

Peter, or Pete, another playmate of the T. children, was 
neither dog nor squirrel, but a notable sheep, with a fine 
fleece of wool on his back, and a broad brow and massive 
helmet, that might have almost served as a battering-ram in 
a siege. He had been a darling lambkin, pretty and playful 
enough for a door-yard pet, but in time grew so uncouth, 
and his manners became so rude and “ familiar/’ that ac- 
cording to the proverb, they “ bred disgust,” and his friends 
grew fewer every day. And yet poor Pete was not a bad- 
hearted fellow ; had no malice at all, nor any wish to make 
himself feared or disliked, but he was so proud of his wide- 
branching antlers, and so fond of using them, that he could 
not withstand the temptation of trying their strength on al- 
most every object that fell in his way. As the childi’en often 
passed near him, and were always flitting around some place 
outdoors, he considered them his legitimate prey, and few 
days passed that he did not measure one or more of them 
out on the ground, and even mamma T. had several times 
fallen a prey to his pranks. Elza, though the youngest of 
all, occasionally outwitted and conquered him by a counter 
movement of her own. But this was only when she was on 
her guard, and saw his maneuvering in good time, for gen- 
erally he laid her as low as the rest, to her intense indigna- 
tion, for she was as quick-tempered and high-spirited a lassie 
as is often seen. But one time she had the good fortune to 
witness a rencounter where he was signally worsted. Peter 
was not particular about who or what he attacked ; it might 
be persons, men, women, children ; anything, so it would 
give way before him. 

Sometimes he tried his prowess on the horses, but oftener 
on the oxen, cows, and calves. One midsummer eve Elza 
was sitting in the back-door that looked toward the barn- 
yard : the faithful, gentle oxen, with work finished, and 
6 * 


130 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


yokes removed, rested like tried friends, side by side ; the 
cows, milked and folded for the night, w^ere scattered around 
them, some lying down, some standing, but all ruminating 
peacefully, full-fed and contented. Elza was noting this 
quiet scene and enjoying it with the pleasure every kind 
heart feels in the happiness of the innocent creatures 
around, when she espied Pete, standing not very far away, 
gazing as intently on this peaceful picture as herself. Pretty 
soon she saw he was beginning to push backwards ; back, 
back, back, preparatory to making a charge, and wondering 
where the blow would fall, and whether she could warn the 
intended victim in time, she started for the yard. On one 
side, a little apart from the cattle, stood a very large white- 
oak stump partly barked and mottled, with a huge knot on 
one side, and altogether bearing (by moonlight) a strong re- 
sembla^nce to a sleeping cow. It was thoroughly seasoned 
too, and hard and unyielding as a stone, and as Elza neared the 
enclosure, she felt almost certain Pete was deceiving himself 
by fancying this mottled remains of the ancient tree was 
her gentle Spottie, and was taking aim at it accordingly. 
No danger of her undeceiving him. Oh, no ; but chuckling 
with delight, she skipped on the fence to see the end. 

Sure enough, on he came with all his force, and rushed 
with a thundering report against the white-oak stump. But 
at the instant he had expected the soft, foolish bovine 
to reel, bellow, and collapse generally, he found himself 
the collapsed party. Half stunned by the blow, he reeled 
backward, gave many a doleful shake to his aching head, 
and looking as astonished and fool-like as ever a mutton 
did, he turned and sneaked away. However, this did not 
mend his manners any ; in a few days he was as bright and 
saucy as ever, and even more so, for besides going on with 
his usual tricks, he began to practice them on persons not 
molested before. Strangers walking unsuspectingly across 
the field, or coming to the house, often found themselves 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


131 


suddenly laid out at full length, sometimes in very moist 
places too. And elated by conquests so many and so amusing, 
the incorrigible rogue, losing aU sense of propriety, began 
to haunt the walks of his grave, tall, dignified master, and 
overthrow him, with as little ceremony as he did the rest. 
Bessie and the children (to say nothing of others) had long 
since ceased to bear any love to Pete, and had repeatedly 
set a price on his head. But as he had never really hui’t 
any one to speak of, and was a valuable animal, Mr. T. 
had heard their threats, and borne their little bumps and 
falls with composure ; sometimes saying, “ You surely must 
banter or provoke the sheep some way, for he never touches 
me.” But after some experience of Pete’s behavior himself, 
after he had been a few times startled from his quiet medi- 
tation, and, without the shadow of excuse or warning, flung 
on the hard ground, or into the mire — then his sentiments 
underwent a* change, and he confessed that others were 
wiser than he had been, “ for such insolence was unbear- 
able ; the fellow was a nuisance that must be abated.” 
And as he was not given to idle vaporing, the thing was 
done speedily ; and before poor Pete dreamed of ill, or 
finis, his play was played out. Last scene — ^the shambles. 
Last Act — Death. 


CHAPTEE XXIV. 

“ And absence brings to every thought of those we love, 

A solemn tenderness, akin to death. 

Ah ! nothing less than hope 

Of their return, can dry our tears, and cheer our lonely days.” 

Meanwhile, the eldest son, Eowland, had been diligently 

pursuing his studies at L , under the best of teachers. 

Dr. P. was a devoted Christian, a faithful pastor, and an 


132 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


accomplished scholar, all in one. A late writer thus speaks 
of him : “ Dr. P. was especially distinguished for his accu- 
rate attainments in classical literature. He seemed to hold 
them completely in his memory ; could hear long recita- 
tions in Virgil, Homer, etc., without a book before him, and 
thoroughly drilled j;he class, asking all the questions as to 
words, sentences, etc., while walking back and forth with 
his hands behind him (his usual position on such occasions). 
.... And it is related that a very difficult passage in one 
of the Greek or Latin classics had passed around among 
half a dozen American colleges without being satisfactorily 
explained or rendered into English ; when Dr. P. took it 
up, and very promptly disposed of it, to the entire satisfac- 
tion of all who were capable of judging the matter.” * 

With such a thirst for knowledge, and under so wise a 
preceptor, Kowland’s improvement was rapid, and the years 
he spent here were among the happiest of his life ; but hav- 
ing the legal profession in view, he bade adieu to these classic 
shades, and turned his attention to Coke and Blackstone, and 
all the diy technicalities of the law. Where, or with whom 
he studied, is not certainly known ; nor in what year he 
was examined and admitted to the bar ; but in due time 
this ordeal was safely and honorably passed, and then the 
question that had long exercised his own and his parents’ 
minds must be decided, viz., location “ Many of the early 
settlers in Pennsylvania were men given to change ; restless 
and ambitious, they were selling out their fertile farms, and 
pushing on to Ohio, Kentucky, or further West.” The haz- 
ard of descending the river for half a thousand miles in an 
open flat-boat, was very great, especially as the wooded 
banks of the Ohio swarmed for hundreds of miles with hos- 
tile Indians, and often boats, cargoes, and crews fell into 
•theii’ merciless hands, and were seen no more. “ But noth- 


* Early History of the Church.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


133 


ing daunted by all the dangers, Eowland resolved to join 
this tide of emigration, and, Heaven willing, carve a future 
for himself ; and after a long, last visit home, he bade fare- 
well to weeping friends and early scenes, and took his de- 
parture. For many hours after he had pressed the last 
parting hand, and caught the last glimpse of home, he 
could still see the mountain at whose feet it nestled. Those 
dear native hills, how long, how fondly he watched their 
familiar forms, changing in the distance from green to 
azure, softening to gray, — fainter, and fainter still, till their 
shadowy outlines mingled with the sky, and faded from 
view."’ Ah ! faded from his view forever, for he was des- 
tined to “return no more.” .... Through a kind Provi- 
dence, the journey so fraught with peril, was performed 
in health and safety, and his destination being Kentucky, 

here he stopped first, and opened an office in L , a 

place of wealth and importance, and then the capital of 
the State. The hatred and jealousy toward “Yankees” 
were not then known, and the young Northerner, adding 
to culture and refinement, a cheerful social naturCj and a 
strikingly handsome exterior, was received in the most flat- 
tering manner by the chivalric natives, and with all that 
generous, gi’aceful hospitahty for which the “ Sunny South ” 
has been so widely famed. In a short time business became 
prosperous, clients were plenty, briefs multiplied on his 
desk, old established men of the law gave him the right 
hand of fellowship, and introduced him to their families 
and friends, till ere long he had the entree to the best 
society of the city, and more invitations than he could well 
accept or thoroughly enjoy. But some of his new acquaint- 
ances w’ere really of no advantage to him, their “good 
blood,” wealth, and polish being their principal recommen- 
dations, for they were not pious, nor even very moral, judged 
by his standard. 

One writer says : “ At this time religion was at a low ebb 


134 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


in the South While churches were neglected and 

thinly attended even on Sabbath ; fashionable amusements 
were followed with avidity ; even among many who professed 
some sobriety, the Sabbath was a day for visiting and feast- 
ing ; and during the week card-playing, horse-racing, ihe 
theatre, and the ball-room engaged the thoughts and affec- 
tions of those into whose hearts the love of Christ had never 
entered/' Another remarks of the same period : “In many 
of the Southern churches religion was in a low state. Spiritual 
apathy and formality had crept over a majority of the pro- 
fessors, and many practices and pleasures at variance with a 
healthy state of religion were countenanced in the church, 
and French infidehty was tainting the manners of those 
without,” etc. 

On such a sea of pride and worldliness the young attorney 
found himself afloat. He was not a professor, and all inex- 
perienced, with none to counsel or countenance him, it is no 
marvel that he was (in some degree) influenced by his com- 
panions and surroundings, to float with the tide rather than 
to withstand it. But the duties of his office, new scenes, 
pleasures, and friends, were alike powerless to estrange him 
from his home and kindred. He communicated regularly 
and frequently,* sometimes sending a dozen pages at once, 
acquainting them with all his affairs of business and daily 
life. He described the places he visited, the acquaintances 
he formed, whether grave or gay, strict or lax in principle ; 
the diversions he engaged in, and those he refrained from. 
With rare ingenuousness he recorded both the evil and the 
good ; the temptations he had been enabled to triumph 
over, and those that had occasionally led him captive at 
their wiU. And parental warning, reproof, or commenda- 
tion followed as the case required, and, happily, it was gen- 
erally the latter he deserved, though not always. 


* Considering the state of the mails in that age. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


135 


Tlie forum has by some been considered a good school 
for artifice and dissimulation, where, amid the crooked 
sophistries of blatant demagogues, good is made evil, evil 
good, and justice trampled underfoot. They characterize 
it as a position where rigid truth and uprightness can not 
flourish, where a nice sense of honor is soon blighted, where the 
conscience is gTaduaUy perverted, grows pliable, mercenary, 
and is perhaps totally depraved. This picture unhappily is 
far too true, yet there have been many honorable excep- 
tions, and Eowland T. was one of them. Truthful and hon- 
est by disposition, these traits had been strengthened and cul- 
tivated by parental care, precept, and example, till they had 
become a second nature. Bribery and corruption he scorned 
from his inmost heart, and so severely did he denounce the 
shameful venality of some around him in public life, that his 
Eastern friends became alarmed, and counselled moderation. 
One of his own rules of hfe was, never to prostitute his tal- 
ents by accepting a case that he could not plead conscien- 
tiously ; on no conditions must he defend the wrong : and this 

rule he kept At one time he sent a long letter home, 

some passages of which sent a thrill of surprise through the 
family circle. This document can not be found for inser- 
tion, but the facts, and some of the language can be given 
verbatim. He gave a description of a visit he had recently 
made to the country, and of a walk through the grounds 
with the mistress of the mansion, while she, with true fem- 
inine enthusiasm, pointed out her favorite shrubs and flowers, 
expatiating glibly on their beauty, rarity, etc. And he, with 
due gallantry, listened, smihngly bowed assent, and praised 
this, and inquired the name or natiu’e of that. "While thus 
pleasantly whiling away the summer evening, they drew 
near an aged man, who was working busily, but slowly and 
feebly, in one corner. 

"That,” said Mrs. G., "is a poor old creature who called 
here the other day seeking employment. I do not need his 


136 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


services, but hating to turn him away, bade him come to the 
garden and I would try him.” 

Rowland had a kind, sympathizing heart ; he felt inter- 
ested in the old wayfarer, and as Mrs. G. was about that 
time recalled to the house, he acco'sted him, and drew him 
into conversation. As old people usually do, he soon began 
to talk of the past : when he was young,” “ the olden 
times ” he remembered, the better days ” he had seen. 
Rowland listened respectfully, and inquired if he were a 
native of the State ? 

“ Oh, no, my birth-place was in ‘ Old Yirginia.’ ” 

And Rowland returned : ‘‘ Ah, indeed ; I lived there once 
too. What part did you live in ? ” 

“ My farms laid mostly in H County (for I was a rich 

man then), and I hved near R , the county-seat. Cap- 

tain J. owned the farm on my right, and Colonel N. was my 
nearest neighbor on the left,” etc. 

Thus he went on and on, describing stiU more closely his 
old surroundings, and repeating his statements over and over, 
with all the fond garrulity of age. And Rowland listened, 
more and more interested every moment, to the familiar names 
of places and persons, for this description was of the old 

neighborhood of P , the first home he remembered ; and 

this old pilgrim was doubtless then one of the near neighbors, 
possibly dearest friends of his parents. And he felt that to 
meet any one who had known and loved them, in this land of 
strangers, would be a privilege, whatever his position social- 
ly. Anxiously he awaited the denouement and the name. It 
came at last : 

“Oldham is my name. Major Oldham they styled me 
when I was rich and honored, and counted my wealth by 
thousands and my friends by the score.” 

His auditor started back, astonished and incredulous. 

Oldham ! Major AUen Oldham, of P ! could this be he ? 

This wretched old man begging among strangers for a hire- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


137 


ling’s place to gain his bread, — or humbly receiving it as 
a charity, — could this be the man of wealth and power; the 
haughty oppressor his father had so often mentioned as the 
most unjust, unrelenting character he had ever met; who, so 
far from ministering to the sick, or visiting the stranger, 
had basely slandered him, and well-nigh perjured himself to 
add to his distress and perplexity? Yes, this indeed was he. 
With fame and fortune lost ; bereft of friends and home; a 
wanderer and a vagabond, he stood before him. Kowland 
controlled his emotions, nor did he add to the hoary-headed 
tyrant’s humihation by reminding him of his former cruel 
injustice to his parents, or even by disclosing his own name ; 
but, taking a pleasant leave of him, retired to his room, to 
note down the story he had heard, and to muse on the 
strange vicissitudes of Hfe. He scarcely dared to term the 
rich man’s fall reti'ihiition, yet a sentence or two from heav- 
en’s own law seemed not inappropriate. “ With what meas- 
ure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again”; and “he 
shall have judgment without mercy who has shown no 
mercy.” 

After a residence in the South of some years, Kowland 
married Mrs. Ehza A., the youthful widow of Col. A., who 
had fallen in the battle of the river Kaisin. She was a 
lovely Christian lady; and as he, too, had returned from his 
wanderings, and set his face Zionward, they were mutual 
helpers to each other, and walked happily along the narrow 
way together. 

A considerable pai-t of his wife’s dowry consisted of 
slaves ; but as the “ institution ” prevailed more or less in 
all the States at that time, he was not so much shocked as 
he should have been at the monstrous idea of owning his 
fellow-men ; then, too, he had been hving in the midst of 
only the milder types of the system, and had become accus- 
tomed to having one or two in his own employ as eiTand- 
boy, hostler, etc He had two children: Edgar, the 


138 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


elder, and Edith, a gentle, sweet-tempered child, and so closely 
attached to her father that it seemed next to impossible to 
separate her from him even for a day. She followed him 
everywhere when he was at home; and often left her toys 
and ]3lay to sit beside him, and quietly hold one side of his 
book while he read in his study. Many and bright were the 
pictures of the future that the fond parents drew for their 
darling; but they were not destined to be realized in this 
world. She suddenly sickened, and died, when entering on 
her sixth year. The mother had fii*mer faith than he, or less 
tender feelings, for there is no tradition of her sorrow; but 
the father’s grief was very great.” He could not be com- 
forted; every fibre of his loving heart seemed to have en- 
twined around this beautiful bud of promise, and were rent 
asunder when it faded and fell. Long and bitter were his 
days of mourning ; but submission to his Master’s will came 
at last, and then gradually peace and cheerfulness of mind 
returned. Eventually his business prospered more and 
more, till he declared in a letter to his home friends, “ that 
he had all he needed or desired in this world, and did not 
wish for more.” His father urged him to accept at least a 
part of a portion among the others, but he generously re- 
fused, repeating, “ My dear father, I assure you I am, and 
have long been, blessed, not only with all the necessaries, 
but even the luxuries of life also ; and, above all, with a 
happy, contented mind, that is fully satisfied with my present 
portion and thriving business. When long ago I said, ‘ Give 
me learning and I ask nothing more,’ I meant it, and I choose 
it still ; but if you will allow me to dictate, will say, please 
divide what would have been mine between my sisters. 
Rose and Elza, in addition to their own shares,” etc. Not 
long after this he was called to part with another dear 
friend. His wife, the faithful companion and counsellor of 
so many years, was removed by death — loved and lamented 
by all, and most by him who had known her best. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


139 


The house was sad and lonely now, none left but his httle 
son ; and he wrote oftener than ever to his first friends that 
he had left. so long ago. And often they longed for, and 
urged, his return ; often he planned and purposed it ; but 
business and care were always pressing, and it was deferred 
from time to time, still waiting a more fitting opportunity 
that was not found ; and thus year after year stole away 
till all were gone. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“ Breathes there a man with soul so dead 
Who never to himself hath said. 

This is my own, my native land ! 

“ Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging, and whosoever is de- 
ceived is not wise.” 

‘‘ How beautiful are the feet of them who preach the gospel of peace 
and bring glad tidings of good things.” 

About this time, or perhaps earlier, in 1793-4, the famous 
“ Whisky Insurrection ” began, and for a short time raged 
wildly through Fayette, Washington, and the adjoining 
counties. And as some misapprehension has prevailed on 
this subject in certain sections, the facts of the case should 
not be lost sight of. Some, who have not been at the pain's 
to inform themselves, have imagined that this miniature 
‘‘ rebellion ” must have originated in some unusual regard 
or respect, the Pennsylvanians held for the article taxed, or 
extreme fondness they bore to it, as a beverage. Not at all. 
This charge is utterly unfounded, and must not, by any means, 
be allowed to stain the fair escutcheon of the Keystone 
State. “ They neither loved nor used it more than the peo- 
ple of other States and countries.” True, it was in constant 


140 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


use at home and abroad, and at parties of every kind, both 
of men and women; but it was the custom of the age, and 
prevailed everywhere. No visit or call could be made with- 
out a glass of wine or brandy being presented as a common 
act- of civility. Speaking of this bad custom prevailing 
throughout Christendom, an old writer remarks : ‘‘ A man 
could not be born, christened, married, nor buried without 
liquor,” and it met him at every intermediate step from 
birth to death. But it is due to the ladies of that XDeriod 
to state that they were habitually abstemious, seldom more 
than tasted it, and some few not even that. But to drink 
much was considered extremely ill-bred and unfeminine, or 
at least that was the sentiment in this locality ; and two 
persons once lost caste entirely with Mr. T. and wife by a 
breach of this rule. 

Some old-country people had lately entered the settle- 
ment, and a couple of the men were employed by Mr. T. for 
some time ; and while there, their wives, who had been left 
at lodgings at some distance, made them a visit. Almost 
as soon as they were seated, Bessie remembered hospitality, 
and reaching down the decanter, and filling a “ bumper to 
the brim,” handed it to the strangers, who, between them, 
coolly drained it to the bottom without explanation or apol- 
ogy. The T.’s were amazed at such unwomanly conduct, 
and could never refer to it without some asperity and dis- 
dain. 

* Temperance societies and teetotal pledges ” were then 
unknown ; and though intoxication was considered both dis- 
graceful and sinful, moderate drinking was thought to be 
neither. That it was hurtful and dangerous to drink at all, 
seemed to occur to none. That spirits should not be made, 
excepting in very small quantities, nor kept, sold, nor given 
away by any but regular druggists, under all the wholesome 
restrictions guarding other poisons, had not been thought 
of by the wise or the foolish, by saint or sinner. On this 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


141 


subject darkness reigned supreme. And as it was consid- 
ered so healthful and lawful to use spirits, it was, of course, 
thought equally lawful and resj^ectable to manufacture and 
sell it. 

This was, then, one of the most extensive branches of 
national industry, and every third or fourth farm owned a 
distillery. And though Western Pennsylvania used no more 
hquor than other places, it did make more, and made it well 
too. Its farmers engaged in this lucrative business with 
such energy, care, and skill, that their Old Monongahela 
Whisky was pronounced superior to any in the United 
States, and had the preference in every market 

Then those western counties were in a measure fated to 
this work ; for, being unable to raise .money to pay their 
taxes and for other indispensable things, by the “ sale of 
their grain, for which there was neither home nor foreign 
market, they seemed to be compelled to reduce their prod- 
uce by some means to portable size. A pack-horse (then 
theii' onl}^ conveyance) could carry but four bushels of rye 
across the mountains, but when distilled into light wines he 
could carry the product of twenty-four. These found a 
ready market in the East, and were exchanged for tax 
money, salt, tools, and other necessaries of life. Such was 
the aspect of affairs when the Excise Law was passed.” 

Besides its being next to impossible to raise money in 
any other way, ‘‘ there were other aggravating circumstances 
calculated to array the wild, free spirits of the settlers 
against it. One was that they had not received that aid 
and protection that every government owes to its subjects ; 
for during the Kevolutionary struggle neither men nor 
means could be diverted from the great contest to assist 
the Western borders. Every resource was needed in the 
East to repel the English. Owing to this, the pioneers were 
forced, in the midst of their weakness and poverty, to fur- 
nish their own troops, arms, everything ; choose their own 


142 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


officers, and carry on the war against a merciless and wily 
foe* as best they could. For years they had suffered un- 
speakable hardships and privations, never daring to lay 
aside their weapons at home or abroad, on Sabbaths or 
week-days, and cultivating their land at the peril of their 
lives. And though the Revolutionary contest had been 
closed for some years now, yet they were still deprived of 
many of the advantages of peace enjoyed by other parts of 
the country. ”f 

‘‘ Then this new measure (to their perverted vision) bore 
a strong resemblance to the infamous ‘ Tea ’ and ‘ Paper 
Stamp Act " of Old England ; and they boldly declared that 
‘ they had fought for liberty, not for a change of masters* 
And while the wounds received in battling against foreign 
tyranny were yet scarcely healed, it is not astonishing that 
they regarded with abhorrence this new swarm of Govern- 
ment officers who everywhere beset them, spying into their 
domestic affairs, and demanding with official arrogance 
more than a tithe of their hard earnings. They avowed, 
‘ This is but the beginning of a system as oppressive as that 
of England. Independence will soon be an empty name. 
We will resist such injustice to the bitter end.’ The first 
attempts to collect the new tax were resisted ; one or more 
deputies were tarred and feathered, and others were com- 
pelled to desist to avoid like treatment The whole 

country was in an uproar ; meetings were convened, officers 
chosen, and, in some parts, as many as 7,000 or 8,000 gath- 
ered in a place. There was great alarm among all classes, 
for parties of insurgents, freed from all restraint, paraded 
the country, threatening destruction to all who refused to 


* Poor, wronged, heathen Indians I Had all the whites remembered 
justice and mercy, like Penn did, there would have been peace, not 
carnage. The sin lies at the white man's door, 
f Doddridge’s Notes. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


143 


join the mad mutiny against the law Meantime the 

Government was organizing and pushing forward an army 
of 14,000 men to quell the disturbance, and many were look- 
ing on with fear and trembhng, expecting daily to be in- 
volved in all the horrors of civil war.”* 

But through all the popular frenzy and danger some 
maintained their loyalty, and refused all aid and counte- 
nance to the proceedings, and amongst these was Paul T. 
He, too, like the rest of the misguided crowd, had his distil- 
lery near his miU, and a proficient in the terrible trade hired 
by the year to attend to it ; but if Government thought it 
wise to lay a heavy tax on the product of his still, or any- 
thing else he possessed, he felt that it was both a folly and 
a sin to resist it. Of cool, sound judgment, and calm, re- 
flective nature, he was not easily excited or turned aside. 
Then, he had a very high veneration for law and order, and 
full confidence that so good and wise a ruler as Washington 
would not originate or sanction any measure calculated to 
injure or oppress. He admitted that “ the new law did ap- 
pear somewhat grievous to them, considering their peculiar 
circumstances ; but it would ultimately result in good or else 
be modified or repealed. Do not be rash ; wait and see if 
all does not yet end well.” 

These were his sentiments, and here he took his stand. 

Not so, however, was it with his fiery, impetuous friend. 
Deacon Y. He took exactly opposite ground, and viewed 
everything in a different hght ; and, as it was impossible 
for him to be or do anything by halves, rushed heart and 
soul into the “Rebellion.” He attended meetings, made 
speeches, cut and reared the first “ Liberty pole ” on his 
own farm that was raised hereabouts ; went as a delegate 
to the General Convention ; in short, did ever^dhing a brave, 
ardent character could do who sincerely beheved he was 


* “ Old Redstone. 


144 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


called on to act for the good of his country, and felt like 
another Cromwell or TeU. 

Washing-ton, obliged to vindicate the laws, yet grieving 
for his misguided, erring children, would do nothing rashly, 
“ but sent out commissioners of peace, men of prudence and 
ability, to reason with and show them the folly of their con- 
duct, the ruin tiiat must foUow its continuance, and finally 
to offer a free pardon to all who would submit to the law, 
and return to their allegiance.” 

A great reaction followed this conference. Some were 
convinced of their error, or melted by the generous, forbear- 
ing policy of the Government ; others, only of the hopeless- 
ness of their cause ; but, from one motive or another, the 
submission papers were pretty generally signed, and by the 
1st of October, 1794, tranquillity was in some measure re- 
stored. 

StiU, as the insurgents were pretty numerous in some 
sections, yet the army continued to advance, and took up its 
quarters in Pittsburgh ; but no attempt at resistance being 
made, the main part of the troops soon returned East, only 
a few battalions being retained to maintain order, and se- 
cure those for trial who had refused the offered amnesty. 

As soon as possible, officers, Avith proper authority, the 
names of offenders, and attended by guides, set out in all 
directions to arrest them. Some of the most notorious cul- 
prits escaped from the country ; and others, bidding a hur- 
ried farewell to friends, fled to distant or sequestered settle- 
ments to secrete themselves. Among the latter was Deacon 
Y. He had scornfully refused submission, and now, as reso- 
lutely refused to leave the country, protesting that he had 
only done his duty. 

But bold and daring as he was, he felt that, single- 
handed, he could scarcely withstand or contend longer ; 
neither could a man of his position and influence hope to 
be forgotten or overlooked. He fled to his ancient friend. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


145 


and, after a hasty conference, hurried away to conceal him- 
self in the fastnesses of the mountains.*^ 

His flight was not premature, for armed dragoons on foot 
and on horseback were already scouring through the land, 
entering scores on scores of houses, and demanding one or 
more of the inmates in the name of the law. Deacon Y. 
w’as, of course, remembered too, and they searched his 
premises and vicinity late and early; but finding no traces of 
him, betook themselves to other quarters. 

Time and again they passed and repassed the Yale cot- 
tage and mill, halting and calling for “ one Y., Deacon Y., 
a noted rebel.’’ 

Paul T. was never given to multiplying words; and now, 
more chary than ever, simply answered that ‘‘ there was no 
such person with him ”; but his whole premises were before 
them — they could search; and this they did repeatedly. 

When the piu’suing party had given over the quest for 
the day and returned to their rendezvous, and darkness gave 
promise of safety, the fugitive would steal from his hiding- 
place for an hour or two, exchanging the dark, chilly thickets 
and gloomy caverns for the cheerful fireside and kind, pity- 
ing companionship of the T.’s. 

And while he and his host discussed the danger or safety 
of his remaining in the vicinity, the number of the dragoons, 
the course they pursued, etc., Bessie would prepare a boun- 
tiful repast, not forgetting to provide an ample portion to 
be carried with him to his lonely retreat, to solace the soli- 
tude of the following day. 

After spending a fortnight or more in this way, growing- 
weary of his dreary exile, and believing the danger was 
nearly or quite over, he determined to return to his home 
and business ; but he was mistaken, for very soon after his 


* This covert was exceedingly well chosen, and for years afterward 
the Deacon's Den ” was pointed out by the pioneers. 

7 


146 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


reappearance he was arrested, and, with about 300 of his 
confederates, conveyed to Pittsburgh. 

Some of these were guilty, some quite innocent, and many 
here found influential friends who procured their release. 
Others were detained and sent East for trial, and among the 
latter was the good deacon, who, with a number more of 
the more prominent offenders, were forwarded to Philadel- 
phia and committed to prison. 

Heavy was the heart and bitter the tears of many a wife 
and mother that parting day, expecting nothing less than 
long, hopeless years in a felon’s cell for her loved one, and 
haply a shameful death. But the Grovernment, seeing that 
the danger was entirely over, and that mercy in this case 
was not incompatible with honor to itself and safety to its 
subjects, acted with “ great leniency. Some were im- 
prisoned a few months, some a year; but only one or two 
were sentenced to be hung, and they, as well as the rest, 
were eventually pardoned.” 

Mr. G. had an infant son, a bright-eyed boy of three 
summers, who saw and heard everything and drew his own 
conclusions. While his father’s case was pending, thought- 
less fellows used to hail the child with: 

‘‘ Hello, Billy ! where’s pap ? ” 

And that unperturbed urchin would shout back : 

‘‘ Gone Phil-delf, be hanged.” 

If any one demurred or gainsaid, he would repeat more 
stoutly: 

“ Gone Phil-delf be hanged, I tell oo he is.” 

But spite of Billy’s* summary disposal of him, papa came 


* Among other stores of useful knowledge gleaned and laid by, 
this same precocious Billy had observed that ma used the word 
“ shoo ” only to birds, and once from his perch on the fence, called a 
benighted sheep-drover to order, by asking him in a tone of contempt, 
“ Man, man, what make you say ' shoo ' ? D’y expect them sheeps to 
fly V* 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


147 


home all unhanged. But though life was spared and liberty 
returned, he found in the end, as did his compeers, that it 
had been a “ losing game.” In trouble and anxiety to him- 
self and friends, time lost, business neglected, means wasted 
and usefulness lessened, he had injured himself more than 
many excise laws could have done. 

“ The Presb^derian clergy unanimously opposed the insur- 
rection. Synod appointed a day of fasting and prayer on 
account of it, and some, if not all the churches, decided to 
exclude members from the communion-table who j)ersisted 
in taking part in it”; but whether the Baptist church took 
like action and expelled or censured Deacon Y. and his al- 
lies, does not appear; neither is it known how the unwonted 
discipline of public reproof, close confinement, prison fare, 
etc., affected him ; but as he had been sincere and earnest 
in his espousal of the “ lost cause,” he was not the man to 
Hghtly change his sentiments or brand it with disgrace 
because it had been destined to fail. However, it is be- 
lieved that in time he came to view the subject differently, 
and finally acknowledged the folly of the mutiny, and the 
clemency of the Government. 

His friendship with the T.’s, dating from the first hour of 
their meeting, had gone on uninterruptedly, strengthening ^ 
with their years ; but henceforth his great warm heart was 
knit more closely than ever to those true, unchanging 
friends who had faithfully pointed out the error he had re- 
fused to see, and warned him of danger he would not heed; 
and yet, when their prediction proved true, and the evil 
days really came, neither deserted nor reproached, but stood 
finnly by him, while others coldly held aloof, and slighted 
or betrayed. On the other hand, the T.’s had never forgot- 
ten the kindness and sympathy shown them in the past ; 
but had had slight opportunity to repay it to one who had 
never seemed to know trouble or ill-fortune of any kind, 
and (though regretting the cause) were not sorry of an oc- 


148 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


casion to test the reality of their gratitude and affection, and 
return a portion of the confidence and favor that through 
all the vicissitudes of life he had shown to them. As all 
their past acquaintance had been marked with rare good- 
feUowship, filled with kindly intercourse, and aU the “ small, 
sweet courtesies ” of life, so all their following years lapsed 
in peace. There were congeniality of taste in general, and 
oneness of feeling on many subjects ; while on aU great 
principles* of right and wrong they saw eye to eye.’’ All 
were Calvinists, and though differing on some minor matters 
as to modes and forms, in aU essential things they were 
agreed. And though one here and there complained that 
the deacon enjoyed being looked on as a pattern and a 
patron, and certainly loved pre-eminence, the T.’s ascribed 
such complaints mostly to envy ; thinking that Mr. Y. only 
filled the place assigned him by Providence, and, in the 
main, filled it well — ^very well, indeed, both in the church 
and neighborhood. In short, as neither party ever had 
cause to regret its confidence in the other, or alter the opin- 
ion first formed, their mutual esteem and affection continued 
unchanged and uninterrupted till death. “Thy father’s 
friend and thine forsake not,” is a sacred precept, and sweet 
, to remember when musing on this long-past friendship of 
Deacon Y.’s. More than a century has passed since the 
dreary winter’s day that witnessed its beginning; the youth- 
ful pair, sad and in trouble, who were aided by his timely 
assistance and cheering smiles (strangers, and he visited and 
took them in), have long been “coffin dust.” Their little 
cliildren, too, early taught to lisp and love his name, old and 
gray-headed, have passed from sight, and been gathered 
to their fathers. For three generations the flowers of 
spring-time have blossomed and the snows of winter fallen 
on that good man’s grave ; yet, in grateful hearts, his name 
is unforgotten and his memory fragrant still. 


Always excepting th^it involved in the “ Excise trouble. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


149 


Of his timorous brother, Deacon J., who turned back in 
the day of trial, less is known, either of good or ill. How- 
ever, the T."s never seem to have resented his untimely loss 
of confidence and desertion of their cause. Probably they 
had seen enough of life to know that coldness and distrust 
were the rule, faith and charity the exception. They always 
spoke very kindly of Deacon J. as a good neighbor, easy- 
tempered and obhging. Many a time he used to tell the 
story of his ‘-'broken sled and broken faith”; laughing 
heartily at the superstitious fear he had of aiding in the 
questionable experiment of bringing a strange, and possibly 
an evil-disposed, family into the infant settlement. When 
he discovered that the new-comers were not only strictly 
moral, but religious also, he opened his heart to them, wel- 
comed them to his house, visited them at their own, and all 
that; but when they had needed a friend most, he had 
feared, doubted, deserted them. But seeing that it was his 
nature to be timid and hesitating, they passed it all by, and 
respected him for his many good qualities ; for though he 
lacked the force of character and frank, warm manners of 
Deacon Y., he had little of the latter’s fire and enthusiasm, and 
in short, was every way less lovable and interesting ; he had 
also fewer faults, and was equally, upright, diligent, and pious. 
Both were liberal and hospitable ; and gave freely of their 
wealth to the support of the Gospel. At the associations 
and communion seasons of this early day, the clergy and 
visiting strangers were often to be entertained for three or 
four days, and open house was the rule; every neighbor re- 
ceiving from five to twenty or thirty, more or less, accord- 
ing to their means or disposition. But these “ two deacons * 

* Possibly some rigid patriots might consider it a sin or a weakness 
in Paul T. to persist for days and weeks in giving “ aid and comfort” 
to a rebel. But so small a faction as this was, probably never really 
endangered the Union, even in its palmiest days ; yet, during that 
time he kept wholly aloof, utterly discouraging and discountenancing 


150 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


invariably prepared for and made welcome two hundred 
between them; sometimes one taking more, sometimes the 
other, as best suited their respective families. The J.’s and 
the Y.’s were Baptists, the T.’s Presbyterians, these being 
the only denominations then in the West; and it is high 
time that so important a subject as this, the founding of the 
Christian Church here in the wilderness, should be specially 
noticed. 

As the religion of Jesus Christ is the foundation-stone of 
all national greatness and prosperity and the principal good, 
the one thing needful ” for every individual, it follows that 
those who truly teach it are the most influential and indis- 
pensable members of society. Believing this sentiment to 
be true, much time and pains have been taken in searching 
out, and collecting from various sources, all the information 
possible concerning the churches that the early pioneers 
and their families attended, and the preachers they knew 
best and valued most. Some often spoke of powerful 
speakers they had heard in N. J. with veneration, and of 
one who was a convolved Indian (or possibly a half-breed), 
a holy and most useful man of Grod ; but as they left tha^ 
place at an early date, they dwelt more on the character 
and work of those who hved and labored in Western Penn- 
sylvania, where they spent the greater part of their lives. 

it. And it was onl}^ when all power and prestige were lost, and its 
frightened adherents disbanded and retreating on every side, that he 
gave aid to the one flying fugitive who asked it ; and that one, he who, 
in all seasons and circumstances, had been true and devoted to him. 
All things considered, he believed that he could be faithful to his 
friend without injuring his country ; but there were spies and in- 
formers on every hand ; they, or others, might think differently ; but 
at all events, he would risk this danger, and, if need be, suffer with 
him. But the Government having decided that it was safe and best 
to treat offenders leniently, of course did not call their abettors to any 
account, so the part taken by Paul T. and other friends of accused 
persons, passed unchallenged. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


151 


Some years since, a gentleman who had recently removed 
to a rural Western settlement, wrote back with playful pet- 
tishness to a friend : 

You Eastern folks send us the fag-ends of everything. 
The poor, clientless lawyer, the quack doctor, the ignorant, 
blundering preacher, all come flocking to the West.” 

But either there was less quackery and pretence then, or 
else Western Pennsylvania was singularly favored when it 
was the “ backwoods.” Less is certainly known of other 
professions ; but in examining authentic records of ecclesi- 
astical affairs, not one weak or ill-informed clergyman ap- 
pears. One or two names are mentioned “ with censures 
annexed, but this was owing to the somewhat questionable 
nature of their piety, not to lack of intellect or culture. 
And with these exceptions those gospel pioneers were men 
of fervent piety and zeal, as well as of talent and education.” 
See the hves of such men as Smith, McMillian, Dodd, Pow- 
ers, etc. 

One authority says : “ The first Presbyterian ministers in 
our new country were thoroughly trained for their work, 
fine scholars, and all graduates of Princeton.” 

Another remarks : “ Our early preachers were not only 
correct and excellent speakers, but many of them very 
graceful ones as well ; and in dress, manners, everything, 
polished gentlemen of the old school” In point of time Dr. 
Powers seems to stand first ; others may have been here 
earher as visitors or transient supplies ; but he was the first 
ordained minister who ever settled permanently in Western 
Pennsylvania. He brought his family in 1776, but had been 
here himself preaching and planting churches as early as 
1773-4. Among the first churches organized by him (or 
any one) were those of Dunlap’s Creek, Laurel Hill, George’s 
Creek, and Tent. 

‘‘ Dr. Powers was a most faithful, laborious paistor ; his 
sermons were clear, able, and edifying, and invariably de- 


152 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


livered without notes. He habitually visited every family 
under his charge, accompanied by one or more of his elders, 
though it obliged him to ride thirty miles to reach all. In 
these visits he catechized all, old and young ; also examin- 
ing the parents and young people as to their understanding 
of the doctrines of the catechism and proof texts, and ended 
with prayer and exhortation. 

“ He carefully improved all suitable occasions of speak- 
ing on personal religion, especially among the young. On 
entering a house he would inquire the name of every child 
and hired person in it, take their hands and look them in 
the face. Thenceforward he recognized and called their 
names wherever he met them ; and all seeing the affection- 
ate interest he took in them, grew closely attached to him, 
and were the more ready to be influenced by his ministra- 
tions. People then being widely scattered, seldom heard 
more than one or two sermons a month ; but so thorough 
was the pastoral and parental training in Bible and cate- 
chetical studies, that they were better instructed in Gospel 
truth than numbers at the present day, who hear two or 
three discourses every week.” 

Then there were Dunlap, Jennings, the two Smiths — 
father and son — ^Wyley, Oorbley, Sutton, Stone : all good 
and faithful laborers in the Master’s vineyard. Jennings 
was a descendant of one of the Plymouth pilgrims, and 
specially dear to the T.’s, because he was from their native 
State, and was also a relative of their father’s. David 
Smith resembled his father Joseph much, both in talent 
and piety. He was exceedingly tender and solemn in his 
manner, both in and out of the pulpit, and remarkably 
watchful over the lambs of the flock, catechizing and coun- 
selling the elder children, and drawing the little ones caress- 
ingly to his side, and sweetly pointing them to Jesus. Elza 
T. remembered him with fond affection through life, and 
often referred to his visits at her father’s house, and traced 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


153 


her first abiding religious impressions to instruction re- 
ceived at his knee before her fifth year. His apostolic zeal 
in laboring from house to house, sowing the precious seed 
in every place, was productive of great good among all 
classes, and was generally well and thankfully received by 
outsiders as well as members ; but occasionally it was mis- 
understood. During the pastorate of IMi*. S., the M.’s, lately 

from V , moved into the bounds of the congregation, 

and took the L. farm. Mr. M. had a real talent for busi- 
ness ; everything was managed with consummate skill ; and 
he had a suitable helpmate in Mrs. M., who was soon pointed 
out as one of the most “ notable, stirring housewives ” in 
the neighborhood. There were several children. Jack and 
Juliet grown up, and able and ready to forward their par- 
ents’ plans ; and altogether they were a thriving, ambitious 
family; proficients in the art of making money, and spending 
it with a liberal hand. They professed some regard for re- 
ligion too, often (if not generally) attended meetings, etc., 
but on the whole were (it is feared) more worldly than de- 
vout. They were pleasant neighbors, often exchanging 
hospitalities with the “ well-to-do’s ” around them, and were 
not unkind or scornful t<5 the poorest ; but their weakness, 
almost their idols, were fashion and society.* The pride 
and pleasure of their lives consisted in dressing in their 
best style and going out, or else in receiving at their own 
bounteous board a goodly company, as wealthy and genteel 
as possible. These they entertained with the excellence 
and variety of their viands, and the order, freshness, and 
comfort of their house and all its surroundings, for of litera- 
ture and art they knew absolutely nothing. 

But if there was one thing they were entitled to the pre- 


* i.e.y Fashion, style, and gentility as it was known when the profes- 
sional men were almost the only scholars, and they and their families 
tlie gentry. 


7 * 


154 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


mium for ignorance of, more than another, it was that of 
pastoral visiting, as practiced by the Presbyterian clergy 
of that day. On this aspiring family, the preacher, as in 
duty bound, called, and Mrs. M. visiting the T.’s the same 
week, gave this remarkable version of it. ‘‘ Mrs. T.,” she 
began, “ there was the sassyest man at our house the other 
day you ever set eyes (3n.” 

« Why,” said the hostess, smiling, “ who was that ? ” 

“ Oh, you couldn’t guess soon,” returned Mrs. M., but I’ll 
tell you who, — just that old Prispyterian parson, and I 
sha’n’t go to hear him again soon. I’ll warrant.” 

What are you talking about, Mrs. M. ? ” exclaimed her 
friend ; what could Mr. S. have done amiss ? There must 
be a mistake somewhere.” 

“ Oh, no, there isn’t either ; wait and I’ll teU aU about it : 
On Tuesday I sees a fine gentleman ridin’ up, and before 
he’d got his horse hitched, I saw who it was. Molten wasn’t 
at home, and I was proper busy ; but the house was in 
‘ apple-pie order,’ and I was glad to see him, and told him 
so. After shaking hands with every one down to Tot in 
her cradle, he sat down smiling and sociable-like, and I was 
just a wonderin’ whether I could •get a chicken, and make 
puddin’, and doughnuts — aU by dinner-time ; when he be- 
gan to ask ‘ how many we was in the family ? ’ and the name 
and age of each child. Next thing I remember, he was 
a-sayin’ somethin’ about visitin’ every family, and about a 
pastor’s duty, and a parent’s duty ; and that this, and that, 
and the other was a means of grace, and a Bible doctrine, 
and talked as solemn about the worth of the soul, and all 
that, as if he was at meetin’. I didn’t know what to think 
or say ; and then he turned to the children, and asked them 
the queerest questions about the creation, the ten command- 
ments, and what not. When they all stared at him, and 
couldn’t answer a thing hardly, he took out a little thin 
book, and read some out of it, about the ‘ chief end of man,’ 


ROSE AND- ELZA. 


155 


— Adam and Eve a-eating that apple, ‘forbidden fruit ’he 
called it ; ‘ the decrees,’ and ever so much more, with the 
most long, hard words in it. I couldn’t half understand 
them myself ; for I’d never seen sich a primer as that in 
my life. He said it was a very valuable httle book, should 
be in every house, aU the children in the congregation 
studied it, and asked — couldn’t mine study it too? I 
guess mebbe he thought we’d never seen a Bible neither, 
for he took one out of his pocket, and read us a few verses, 
and then, to cap all, he finally finished his insolence, by 
kneelin’ down, and prayin’ for us all, — for Molten, and me 
too, as if we were a set of heathens. He was just try in’ to 
spy out what kind of folks we was, and how we had raised 
our children ; and did you ever hear of such doings in any 
respectable house ? I didn’t quite order him out, but I 
went on with my work, as fast and noisy as I could, to 
show him I was not to be insulted, and teach him better 
manners.” And fairly out of breath, she paused, flushed 
and excited, to see what efi^ect her story had produced on 
Bessie, and what sympathy or explanation she could offer. 
That lady took the floor with alacrity, and broke forth 
vehemently : 

“ Oh, Mrs. M. ! you should not have done so on any 
account. Whatever will Mr. S. think of you? He 
meant no offence in the world, but only kindness. It is 
their rule to read a portion, catechize, exhort, and pray in 
every house they Ausit, no matter whose, or whether the 
owners be rich or poor, high or low, learned or ignorant.” 

]\Irs. M. Avas mollified on hearing this, and wished she had 
been less hasty; confessing that he had addressed her most 
respectfully as Madam, had prayed beautifully, etc. The 
dominie always maintained a discreet silence on the subject, 
and no one ever heard of this pastoral visit but through 
Mrs. M. herself. 

Up to this point, only the Presbyterian preachers have 
been described ; but the “ Baptists were also very early 


156 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


in the field, and labored with great diligence and success, 
especially in Fayette County.” One historian states that 
Bedstone Association was organized in 1776, and em- 
braced a large part of the talent and enterprise of that 
society. One of the oldest churches was gathered by Elder 
John Sutton, and was first called in the records Great 
Bethel, but later, “ Uniontown Baptist Church.” This was 
the mother of many other churches which arose around it, 
and prospered through a long period. Father Sutton was 
a native of New Jersey ; and one of five brothers, all of 
whom preached the Gospel in the same denomination. He 
settled in Fayette County, when it and aU the surrounding 
country was stiU a wilderness, and was a laborious and 
much respected preacher. 

As the respective families of the K.’s and the T.’s in New 
Jersey, were Presbyterian throughout all their branches, 
the children of course had been trained in that faith, and 
in it, Paul T. lived and died. But Bessie, on her removal 
to Fayette County, believing that though less learned than 
her own, the Baptist pastors were equally pious and useful ; 
and that perhaps there might be more plain Gospel sim- 
plicity in their denomination, sought and found a home 
there. Of this old church, “ Great Bethel,” she was a mem- 
ber, and this holy man. Elder Sutton, was her pastor, and 
one of her most venerated fiiends. Still, she very often 
attended the church of her fathers, with her husband and 
family as before, and the Presbyterian clergy were always 
welcomed most cordially to her house and table. 

“ Contemporary with Elder S., and united with him in the 
Master’s work, was the pious and distinguished John Cor- 
bley, an Englishman, who settled in Virginia as a preacher 
in early life. But being persecuted and imprisoned there 
for his faith, he came to Pennsylvania, and assisted in 
planting the first Baptist churches in the West. While 
pastor at W y, Green County, on the second Sabbath of 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


157 


May, 1782, while on their way to church he and his family 
were surprised by Indians. His wife and three children 
were instantly killed and scalped ; and the two remaining 
children were felled, scalped, and left for dead, though 
afterward restored to a miserable, lingering kind of exist- 
ence. This dear servant of God was occasionally at the 
T.’s, and with his own lips told them his sad story of suf- 
fering and bereavement ; and was greatly beloved and 
honored by them and the entire community.. He hated 
bigotry, and loved the image of Christ wherever found ; 
and lived in sweet Christian fellowship with brethren of 
other denominations, and especially so, with Mr. Dodd, the 
Presbyterian pastor, laboring nearest to him.” 

The culture and refinement, as well as the piety and zeal, 
of these pioneer preachers have been noted ; but the first 
church buildings were little in keeping with their courtly, 
dignified incumbents. They were built of logs, left round, 
and roofed with clapboards, held in place by clogs laid 
across them. The windows were small openings, glazed 
with paper, made transparent by a coat of hog’s lard or 
bear’s grease ; a puncheon fioor, rough slab platform, and 
slab seat for pulpit, and some seats of the same kind for the 
congregation, completed the arrangements. They were con- 
structed entirely with the axe. No saw, plane, hammer, nor 
even a single nail were used ; there being no such articles in 
the countr3\ Neither was there stove or fire-place found 
in them. Some authorities say that it was not till 1800 
that fire or backs to pews were introduced into churches, 
and then not without fiery opposition from many, as great 
or greater than greeted the entrance of Watts’ ‘Psalms 
and Hymns.’ .... At the communion seasons people 
often came ten, fifteen, or more miles, and remained through- 
out the fom' days, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, of the 
meeting At that day the opening prayer was fre- 

quently an hour, and sometimes two hours long ; the sermon 


158 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


from an hour and a half to two and a half hours long ; and, so 
far from taking one or two naps on Sunday (not deemed ne- 
cessary on working days), the whole night as well as the day 
was occasionally spent in warning the careless, teaching the 
anxious, and in praise and j^i'ayer. Nor did the time seem 
long, for God was there, and His work went gloriously on.”* 
Nor need they rashly be termed fools or fanatics if occasion- 
ally, when the work was great, these zealous Christians did 
obey the Scripture literally, “ gave no sleep to their eyes nor 
slumber to their eyelids,” especially while the great apostle 
Paul and Christ Himself, and others of whom the world was 
not worthy, have sanctioned it by doing the same. But how 
preposterous, how unendurable would those old-time usages 
appear to some dainty Gospel hearers of this day, who are 
continually grudging the time spent in the sanctuary, for- 
ever crying, “ What a weariness it is ! When will it be over ? ” — 
though the whole service is now compressed within less than 
the time then used in the opening exercises alone. True, in 
towns and cities the greater number of religious meetings 
now, perhaps more than compensates for their brevity ; but 
in the country there are still many places where there is but 
one service held in a fortnight, a month, or two months, and 
some travel several miles to attend. This homeopathic-like 
system seems not entirely suited to such places ; yet even in 
these cases the greater number of hearers seem to prefer 
brevity. Well, possibly the feebler constitutions of these 
later generations, really could not bear any approach to the 
spiritual regimen that delighted our stalwart fathers. Pos- 
sibly we may be led partly by necessity now, as weU as by 
the spirit of the age, to court ease, and condense, curtail 
everything,f everywhere, as far as possible. And yet a rea- 

* Old Records. 

f Some have said “ a sermon should not exceed twenty -five minutes 
in length, and' fifteen is better still.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


159 


sonably close observer will note that this law is scarcely that 
of the Medes and Persians. 

It is not made to apply everywhere, and change not. There 
is as much time and spirit as of old for some things. Peo- 
ple still delve and plan and worry early and late to secure 
the treasui’es of this life. “ Still scheme and strive and strain 
from youth to age for wealth or fame. StiU s^Dend whole 
days on work, whole nights on amusement over cards and 
novels, in ball-rooms and bar-rooms. Yea, spend freely 
whole hfe-times on business or pleasure. No retrenchment 
here! Despite the jaded nerves, despite the rush of this 
age of steam and lightning, tjaere’s strength enough to serve 
the world ; there's time enough to serve the devil." * 

“ The^ groves were God’s first temples,” and in summer, 
especially at the thronged communion meetings, the rude, 
cramped churches were often forsaken for those cool re- 
treats. Witnesses have left graphic descriptions of the 
beauty of those sylvan shades, and the solemnity of the 
sacred rites enacted there on those far-off summer days. 
The wide-spreading forests of mighty oak, with giant 
branches gently swaying in the pure wood-scented breeze. 
The vast crowds ; the picturesque attire; the long sacramental 
tables spread with snowy linen, stretching under the leafy 
colonnades. The charm of the open-air music swelling up 
from the great congregation. The earnest, impressive tones 
of the sj)eakers in their deep, fervid, persuasive sermons, 
and exhortations solemn as eternity, tender as love. And 
high, overarching all, fit emblem of the pure realms they 
pointed to, the peaceful, far, blue ether. 

“ In those early times,” says a quaint old writer, the citi- 
zen was the pagan,f the rustic was the Christian, for all the 

* Old paper. 

f In point of religious privileges and general lack of piety. 


160 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


churches were in the country. In 1785 there was not a 
church, chapel, or priest of any persuasion in Pittsburgh or 
any other town west of the mountains. But in the rural dis- 
tricts were many large and prosperous congregations, and to 
these the members in towns resorted. Those in Browns- 
ville went to Dunlap’s Creek, those in Washington to Char- 
tiers or Buffalo, those in Uniontown to the Tent, etc. As to 
time, the Presbyterians sent out the first ordained minister 
who ever settled with his family in Western Pennsylvania, 
and others soon joined him. But according to their his- 
torian, Benedict, the Baptists (perhaps) erected the first 
church court. He supposes that ‘Redstone Baptist Asso- 
ciation’ was organized as early as 1776. While ‘Redstone 
Presbytery’ held its first meeting in 1781, just one month 
before the surrender of Cornwallis. This infant court, con- 
sisting of Revs. Powers, Smith, McMillain, and Dodd, was 
to meet at Laurel Hill, but owing to Indian incursions, was 
held at Pigeon Creek instead. These two oldest ecclesiasti- 
cal bodies in the western wilds were so named, because then, 
and for many years after, the expression, ‘ Redstone Settle- 
ment ’ was used to designate most of the country west of the 
mountains whether claimed by Pennsylvania or Virginia. 
This title had its origin from a creek of that name that 
rises among the western glens of Chestnut Ridge, and enters 
the Monongahela below Brownsville, which was long known 
as ‘Redstone Old Fort.’ The hills around this beautiful 
mountain stream abound in bituminous coal : in places this 
has been fired by the Indians, or as some think, by sponta- 
neous combustion, till the banks in some parts are thor- 
oughly calcined; so much so, that the baked earth has often 
been pulverized and used in painting instead of Spanish 
brown. It is of a dark red color, hence the name ‘ Redstone 
Creek.’” (“American Pioneer,” Yol. II.; “State Geologists 
of Pennsylvania,” Third Annual Report.)* ’ 

* These old-time, open-air meetings mentioned, were a necessity 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


161 


CHAPTEK XXVI. 

** Round these hearth-stones used to be free-hearted hospitality, 


The home fires blazing broad and bright and high, 

While the roofs rang with laughter light and loud.” 

Having described the churches, it is scarcely necessary to 
add that the dwelling-houses were similar, smaller size and 

then, as no frontier building could accommodate the congregations, 
for each preacher having a large circuit, when he held a communion 
service at one place (generally aided by a brother micister), many from 
the several charges at other points, having no other preaching to at- 
tend, followed their pastors to this, making a vast audience. But 
these great, solemn assemblies, hearing reverently, where hundreds 
were converted, must not at all be classed with the average bush or 
camp-meeting of this age. These, most religious journals, and some 
secular ones, denounce as an evil and an injury to the cause of piety 
and good order in any community they invade, filling the sweet groves 
with confusion, dust, and smoke ; with the racing and lashing of liv- 
ery teams, and the thundering and shrieking of locomotives ; where 
chaffering, buying, selling, eating, drinking, and smoking go on con- 
tinuously, and the giddy crowd promenade up and down, laughing, 
chatting, and amusing themselves, the most part seeming to consider 
the whole thing a sort of religious frolic, or huge Sunday picnic, or at 
best as a kind of light, pleasant, religious dissipation. But unfortu- 
nately, whatever else the thing may or may not be, it is attractive, not 
only to the careless, but to others ; draws many professors to neglect 
known duty, turn their backs on their faithful pastors, leave their places 
in their own orderly, quiet churches and Sabbath-schools vacant, to at- 
tend where, however good the services may be (and sometimes are), the 
atmosphere is unfriendly to worship; the noisy, distracting, ever-shift- 
ing crowd,, and endless, useemly sights and sounds, making devotion 
impossible to some and difiicult for any. 

But though many customs of the fathers have changed, perhaps 
none should say, the former days were better than these,” for despite 
the evil that abounds, and the declarations of infidels that Christianity 
is declining here, the Bible growing obsolete, etc., really the Scrip- 


162 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


chimneys excepted. There, too, nothing but round logs, 
clapboards, and slabs were seen. Tables, seats, everything 
almost, were of slab. Two or three strong forks with poles 
laid along them, and several others across, with the ends 
resting in holes in the log walls, formed a bedstead. House 
building and furnishing then were somewhat different from 
now. Three days and less sufficed from the time the timber 
was waving in the forest, to transform it into warm, cosey 
cabins and very useful, if not very handsome furniture. 
And this style of housekeeping answered for all classes, 
rich and poor, high and low. 

Dr. John McMillain writes in 1778: “The cabin I was 
to occujDy had neither roof, floor, nor chimney when I ar- 
rived with my family at the beginning of winter ; but 
the neighbors were very kind in helping me finish it, and 
we moved in the 16th of December. But for the first day 
or two we had no bedstead, table, chair, stool or bucket, as 
we had brought nothing over the mountains but what could 
be carried on pack-horses. The second day, a neighbor 
coming to my assistance, we took the remainder of the 
slabs left from the floor, made a table, seats, etc., and soon 
had everything comfortable about us. Sometimes, indeed, 
we saw no kind of bread for weeks together, but had plenty 
of squashes, pumpkins, and potatoes ; all that was really 
necessary.”* * 

tiires were never so much studied in Christendom before, never so 
much demanded in pagan lands as now, and it is stated that for the 
last fifteen years an average of one church each secular day has been 
built. 

*]Sro other set of pioneers labored harder or did more for Western 
Pennsylvania, morally, spiritually, and intellectually, than the clergy 
(especially the Presbyterian clergy), many of whom taught as well as 
preached, turning their cramped cabins for years into grammar 
schools and colleges for the advancement of the infant colony. They 
shared fully, too, in all its poverty, hardships, and danger, and it is 
but meet that they should share fully in its comforts and advantages 
now. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


163 


What would our polished D.D.’s of to-day think of such 
lodgings and fare? How could any class live so now? 
One writer says : 

‘‘ Til] my seventh year I had no idea there was a house 
in the world not made of logs. Then, being sent East, I 
at Bedford saw a stone house, plastered on the inside. We 
lodged here, and I examined it closely, but whether it had 
been reared by men or had grown itself, I could not deter- 
mine. I saw odd cookeries at this table, too. One of the 
oddest being a small cup set in a larger one, filled with 
neither hominy, gruel, nor soup, but with a thin, brownish 
liquid, of a most villainous tcLste, and called coffee. Tlffe 
men at this tavern were talking loudly about catching and 
hanging Tories, and, as they frequently mentioned the 
^ backwoods,’ I was in mortal fear lest my uncle and self 
might be Tories too, so kept very silent, and dared not ask 
a single question about any of the marvels I saw.” 

The dress was almost entirely of homespun. There were 
no factories of any kind. The women picked, carded, and 
spun the wool, then colored, warped, wove, cut out, and 
made up the cloth. They also pulled, spread, turned the 
flax, scotched, hackled, spun, warped, wove, bleached, and 
made up the linen. Good housewifery and thrift were 
known by the amount of clothing displayed ; for the coats, 
hunting-shirts, short gowns, etc., hung in one corner, or 
along two or three sides of the room, according to the 
means of the owners. 

These garments of flannel, flax, tow, and linsey-woolsey, 
of many colors, with several comb-cases, pin-cushions, etc., 
decorated the walls* instead of tapestry, pictees, and 
brackets. And in lieu of carpets, the floors of spare rooms 

* Once Grannie J. , returning from a call on a new family, told her 
daughter, “ They’re decent folks, hut I’ll lay you a dollar they’re poor 
enough, for the clothes-pegs were nearly empty. I don’t think there 
was ten hunting-shirts and short gowns on the wall.” 


164 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


(if there were any) in genteel families were covered with 
fine white sand, in which, if very genteel, wreaths or bou- 
quets of flowers were drawn with a pointed stick. In sum- 
mer the walls were freshened with a coat of blue clay (lime 
whitewash not being known here then), the hearth cov- 
ered with a rug of soft, verdant moss, and the fireplace 
filled with 

“ Aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay.” 

This pretty arrangement gave a cool, sweet, bower-like as- 
pect to the room, grateful to the eye. Almost everything 
corresponded. The table was covered with homespun cloth 
and laid with pewter plates, spoons, and basins ; but these, 
with the cutlery and pot metal, were so heavy to carry on 
pack-horses over the steep mountain paths, that usually 
very little was brought. 

Doddridge says : ‘^As the family increased, wooden 
trenchers, bowls, and noggins were brought into service, and 
often the shells of gourds and squashes were used too.” 

Bessie T., coming somewhat later, brought more ware of 
every kind than many of her neighbors ; but being choice 
of her bright pewter and costly, brittle, white dishes, kept 
some trenchers too, one of which troubled a town boy very 
much. 

Having company at dinner that day (Mrs. S. and her three- 
year-old Bennie being two), she seated the urchin in a cor- 
ner, and filling one of these said trenchers with goodies for 
him alone, left him as happy and rich as famous Jack Homer. 

Before the grown folks were half done, Ben, having sat- 
isfied his own demands, and disposed of the remainder to 
• puss, began to play with and examine the strange dish that 
had been imposed on him. 

The right side being ornamented with several creases and 
cuiwes (and pretty well smeared with syrup and pudding), 
looked like ma’s dishes ; but the other side he imagined 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


165 


seemed queer and wooden-like. All unconscious of the din- 
ner party watching him with “nods and smiles,” he was 
surveying the Janus-faced thing with the greatest care, and 
subjecting every part to the severest scrutiny. Gravely 
poising it in his chubby fingers, slowly and thoughtfully 
turning it over and over, now right side up, now wrong, he 
was ejaculating, sotto voce^ “ Plates, board; a plate, a board ! ” 

In those early times there was a great deal of sociability 
and feUow-feeling among aU. Neighbors gathered together 
and assisted each other in almost everything. There were 
huskings, clearings, fiax-pullings, spinning-bees, paring- 
bees, sewing-bees, quiltings, etc. 

As a quilt took up so much space in a small house, it was 
always expected that the company would finish, and take it 
out of the frames, and probably hem or bind it before they 
left. And great was the ambition among those invited, to 
be marked prompt. Many a brisk, industrious damsel had 
finished home duties, dressed, and was on her way to the 
quilting before the stars. had faded in the sky. Another 
reason for diligence among the belles was that there would 
be no place to receive the beaux or carry on the evening 
sport tin their work was completed and removed. 

Another kind of party, the “ Kicking-bee,” seems so rude 
and outlandish now, that a description will scarcely be tol- 
erated ; yet it was a positive necessity then, and very com- 
mon. As there were no factories, no fuUing-miUs, no any- 
thing, as now, every good housewife, on cutting her web of 
blanketing or winter cloth from her loom, caUed in the 
neighboring yeomanry to fuU it for her. The goods, thor- 
oughly satui’ated with soft soap and hot w^ater, were spread 
on the fioor. A row of seats placed close together round 
it, and about dusk the guests came in and made ready for 
the work. A score of fine, athletic “ barefooted boys,” with 
their “ turned-up pantaloons,” soon filled the seats, seized 


166 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


the strong rope that extended round the circle, and waited 
the word of command. Then forty stout blows fell at once 
on the soft wet folds beneath ; and on, on, thumping, bang- 
ing, stamping with might and main, faster and faster every 
foot flew. Now and then a short recess was held while the 
web was turned, refolded, etc. ; and every few minutes 
fresh soap was added, and more w^ater from a huge caldron 
over the fire. Then, the hubbub redoubled, the water 
splashed, and the foam flew far and near. 

There was a great deal of fun and laughter at these 
primitive “ fulling frolics,” often heightened by some saucy 
madcap giving the shower-bath rather warmer than the 
law allowed, and whom her victims, with loud exclamations, 
threatened with condign punishment by and by. Or occa- 
sionally one of the fullers, seeking to outshine his fellows 
by some extra flourish, betrayed by the slippery floor, would 
lose his balance and fall with a splash into the foaming suds. 
In a couple of hours or so the cloth would be well thick- 
ened, and was quickly carried out, the well-washed floor 
mopped up in a twinkling, and the table drawn out and 
spread with the best the house could afford, as was mete 
to such faithful laborers, and which such heavy exercise 
had given them good appetites to enjoy. 

During the winter season there was not less sociability; 
perhaps there was more of other kinds, as there was less 
work going on. There were Christmas and New Year din- 
ners, wedding feasts, barbecues, skating parties, sleighing 
parties, and also many happy family reunions — many quiet 
evening visits where friend met friend. In those bleak 
winter days and long winter nights, were seen those won- 
drous wood fires of which the poets sing, — “Perfect holo- 
causts of wood, — where a log three feet in diameter and 
twice that in length, was rolled in as ‘ back-stick,’ supple- 
mented by one of smaller size in front, on the andirons, 
and half a cord of kindhngs and middle-sized sticks heaped 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


167 


between — enough to supply a score of our Liliputian grates 
and stoves.’'* 

And what a royal blaze it made ! AVhat warmth and 
light and heat! What cheerful, open-handed hospitality 
was dispensed around those ample hearths ! What circles 
met and sported in the ruddy glow! What songs were 
sung, what tales were told! — Surprise parties are not a 
modern invention either, but were common then too, and 
sometimes were returned with interest. 

One cold December night, when the snow lay deep, all 
the B.’s, with friends stopping with them, made a sudden 
move on the T.’s, filling the house almost to overflowing 
without a note of warning. However, they were welcomed 
cordially, and passed a very pleasant evening, and on leav- 
ing, bade their entertainers return the compliment while the 
sleighing lasted. And they did ; for, gathering all the force 
they could muster, they swooped down on the B.’s and their 
allies the very next night, to the great surprise of the late 
surprise party. 

The amusements of the age, carried on in summer even- 
ings at the close of the numerous bees, or on winter nights 
beside the roaring fires, varied to suit the various minds. 
Some companies, with quiet tastes, played quiet games — 
“ parlor games ” (only there were no parlors) — or sung, con- 
versed, or told stories. As noticed in a former chapter, 
books were very scarce, and periodicals almost unknown 
here in the backwoods ; hence a good story-teller, or a good 
reader with something to read, was a prize in a community. 
Bessie T. was par excellence the former, and was everywhere 
a loved and welcome guest. However, she did not always 
depend on her own memory and language, especially if the 
narrative was strictly religious, but read it. When she re- 
ceived her copy of The Dairyman’s Daughter ” from the 
East (the first book of that class ever seen in the vicinity), 


* Old History of Backwoods. 


16S 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


she carried it with her into company, and read this simple, 
touching history of the lowly, but sainted Elizabeth Wal- 
bridge, to listeners as rapt and silent as ever waited on the 
public “ Readings of Shakespeare or Dickens.” .... Others 
engaged in ‘‘ blindfold,” black man,” poor pussy,” and 
such-like lively, romping games, while others still, delighted 
in ‘‘ forfeits,” “ cross-questions,” dancing, ‘‘ sleight of hand,” 
practical jokes, etc., etc. These tricks and jokes, generally 
played off on the ignorant, were usually simply amusing, 
but sometimes rather rude and alarming. Dough-face ” 
and hokonono were often played. The latter (probabl}" 
corrupted from the Indian, hobomokko) was done in this 
way : A large sheet or blanket was folded corner- wise, sewn 
partly up, and stuffed ; a huge pair of black ears and a couple 
of red goggle eyes were added, a strong stick inserted to 
make the head and neck move naturally, and the thing was 
done, and looked considerably like the caricature head of a 
long, lean steed. A pair of bright, quick-motioned girls, in 
some closet or outhouse, would prepare this in half an hour’s 
time ; then, quietly re-entering, bearing refreshments or 
something, else to conceal their depravity, they would inno- 
cently take their seats. The performer, already outside on 
some pretence, would now quickly whisk off his shoes, 
mount the massive head on his shoulders, envelope himself 
in the remaining drapery, and, dropping on all-fours, this 
ghost of Rozinante would glide softly into the room, wdiere 
generally at that moment the lights happened to be rather 
dim. As all shrieked and fled before it into the darkest 
corners, the uncanny beast (its long nose aloft, its great ears 
turning sharply from side to side) would pause and listen ; 
then make a furious onset — now on one screeching squad, 
now on another, till the whole band was routed and flying. 

As a missionary once said of a bugbear seen among the 
heathen : “ Though it was broad daylight, and I knew 
what it was, yet it looked so prodigiously frightful, that as 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


169 


it approached me, I involuntarily shivered and shrank 
back.” So even the initiated could scarcely control their 
nerves as this weird nightmare bore down on them closer 
and closer ; while the young and ignorant were sometimes 
quite overcome with terror. At that double surprise party 
at B.’s, two giiis, Hally E. and Hannah N., were singled 
out, and pursued by the hokonono, and frightened to such 
a degree, that the company, fearing serious consequences, 
were obliged to interpose, and with all haste explain the 
] natter. 

Much such a cabin as those lately described was the 
T.’s. Here Delia and Ethan died ; here Rowland and 
Fred began their studies ; and here Rose and Elza were 
born, and lived till they had reached their seventh and 
tenth years. About that time they moved into a new and 
larger house of hewn logs, buQt a few rods from the old 
one, — nearer the mountain, and still nearer to, almost on, 
the very brink of the Redstone. The children haunted it 
now more than ever, and if it were possible, loved it more, 
and Elza in her devotion very narrowly escaped drowning 
in it, — and must, but for Fred’s coolness, for both the parents 
were away. He was just in time to see her black hair float- 
ing on the surface, and seizing her by that alone, dragged 
her safely to shore. 

Fred differed in many ways from his elder brother ; he 
was like him, and unlike him. For one thing, though lov- 
ing books nearly as well, he was not entirely absorbed in 
them, nor in work either, but loved play most devotedly ; 
and instead of wishing the boy-callers gone, that he might 
study and work, he wished them to stay long, that he might 
play. His flrst business with a new boy was to compare 
notes on games ; find out what he played best, what worst ; 
try his metal in wrestling, lifting, pitching, and a dozen 
other things. When Fred was turned into his teens. Si. 
Morris (son of a new settler) came to the mill first, and re- 
8 


170 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ceived a hilarious welcome from the young host, who firmly 
believed the saw, “The more the merrier.” And he at 
once began to talk blithely, and ask, as a matter of course, 
“ What will you play ? ” But Josiah drew back as shyly as 
a girl, declined every proposal, and as soon as practicable 
secured his grist, mounted his old roan, and slowly and 
soberly jogged away, more like fourscore than fourteen. 
Fred stood looking after him a moment contemptuously ; 
then inwardly dubbing him a “ milksop,” returned discon- 
tentedly to his work. But on reflection, he generously re- 
solved to give him another trial, and let him retrieve his 
character if he could. And he did bring up the subject, 
over and over, as often as ’Siah appeared ; offering him his 
choice of games, and doing aU in his power to encourage 
and please him, — ^but aU in vain. After he had run over a 
list of aU the sports in creation, and exhausted all his elo- 
quence, painting the special charms of each, the stolid Vir- 
ginian was just as cold and uninterested as ever. Not an 
hour, not a minute would he spend on any of them. Fred 
had often hinted some disapproval of his new acquaintance ; 
but after a dozen of these failures with him, lost all patience, 
and abused him roundly ; declaring to mamma and the 
girls — ^that “ of all the stupid, lazy, sleepy, wooden-headed, 
good-for-nothing boys in the world. Si. Morris was the good- 
for-nothingest ! ” 

Bessie was accustomed to these boyish tempers, and piles 
of adjectives, and for the hundredth time said reprovingly : 
“ Come now, hush up, Fred ; what can that young Morris 
have done ? ” 

“ Done, indeed,” he retorted ; “ catch him doing anything ! 
He’s done nothing, that’s all he’s good for. He won’t run a 
race, he won’t jump, he won’t wrestle, he won’t lift, he won’t 
pitch, he won’t play ball, he won’t play anything. He’s no 
better than an old stump ; he’s good for nothing, nothing, I 
say!” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


171 


Hush, hush,” said ■ mamma, you should not speak so. 
Josiah seems a nice, quiet boy; a little dull, certainly; 
but I daresay he’s good for something else, if not for a play- 
mate. And as for that, I heard your father saying you had 
more than enough already ; a good many more than agreed 
■with your work, my boy.” 

At this hint the grumbler thought best to retreat, and 
discreetly betook himself to his unfinished task. But not 
long after this outbreak, he came in one day noisy and 
jubilant ; ingenuously confessing his error in railing at 
’Siah M., and affirming, that after all, he was good for a great 
deal ; worth ten of the other boys, etc. By mere accident 
he had discovered that Josiah was a reader,* a great reader ; 
and like brother Kowland, loved and pored so much over 
his books, that he cared but little for play. Moreover, they 
were going to read together ; exchange books, and what 
not ; and he was to have a new book from Morris that very 
week. 

Mamma could not forbear smiling at, and mistrusting this 
sudden and violent friendship ; but the girls were delighted 
at the new turn of affairs, for who did or could prize a new 
book more than they ? However, Elza had something else 
on the brain just then, too. She had only lately gained the 
accomplishment of riding on horseback, but already man- 
aged her steed so cleverly, that she had been promised a 
ride that week to F (if nothing occurred to prevent). 

She was to go on Saturday and take her best gown along, 

60 that on Sunday she could attend meeting at G with 

her friends. 

It was seven miles or more distant, a nice road, lovely 
September weather, and great was her pride and joy, and 
elaborate her preparations. But a few hours before the time to 
start, some of the family, returning from town brought a 


* Later, he discovered that the dull, sleepy -looking 'Siah was also a 
fine singer. 


172 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


message from Charity E., stating ‘'that a very famous 
preacher would be at Bethel next day, and her friends, Mr. 
and Mrs. T., must not fail to hear him.” 

Mrs. T. at once decided to go, and promptly conveyed 
the pleasing inteUigence to her daughter, that now as she 
and papa would be absent, her visit must be postponed, as 
it could be taken as well another day, when the great D.D. 
would be gone. 

But Elza could not see it in that light at aU. To her, 
there was no time like the present. Her whole heart was 
fixed on going, and going now. She could not give it up ; 
no, no. On mamma repeating, “ that as matters stood now 
she must give it up,” she burst into a perfect torrent of 
words and tears, reasoning, beseeching, reproaching, till her 
mother sternly commanded silence, and for her noisy in- 
subordination, added a two hours’ task. 

. Some have said of that age, “ Parents ruled their children 
with a rod of iron, often punished them cruelly, and some- 
times contrived marplots and disappointments purposely, 
to inure to hardships, and prepare them for the trials of 
coming life.” 

The T.’s were not so severe as this ; yet their discipline 
was not slack. They firmly held the good old doctrine, that 
as God had placed the parents (not the children) at the 
head of the house, therefore it was the positive duty of 
parents to rule their households ; to do and order what in 
their judgments was best for all, and the duty* of children 
to trust and obey, asking no questions nor answering back. 

Their aim was to do right, yet in their wise dread of the 
weak indulgence and cruel kindness that bring so many 
children to shame, they may sometimes have erred on the 
other side. Possibly there were occasions when they mis- 


* A grand rule where parents are wise and pious; but if weak and 
vicious, what, then, is children’s duty ? 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


173 


took the patli of duty, or where at least more consideration 
and tenderness should have been used, lest in their whole- 
some fear of strengthening the child’s self-will, they should 
have injured its sense of justice. 

Such a case of mistake and wrong the spirited, sensitive 
Elza felt sure had occuiTed on that sweet and yet most dis- 
mal September day. Child casuist that she was, was she 
right or wrong ? 

But its weaiy hours at last wore away, and chores were 
finished. From the great clay oven without, and from 
crane and hearth within, the savory Sunday stores had been 
transferred to safe and cellar; lines of freshly-ironed linen, 
and hose great and small, aired beside the fire; while near 
them stood a row of well-blacked shoes, with large, shining 
buckles. The kitchen wares were brightly scoured, and the 
floors lately washed and sanded. Another six-days’ work 
was done,” and over the well-ordered house the Saturday 
night closed in. 

If nothing had been promised Elza, she would have been 
the gayest, prettiest figure in this quiet domestic scene ; but 
as it was, proved anything but gay. She had cried till she 
could cry no more; and now, with the heavy sobs shaking 
her slight form, she shrank from sight, and feeling that all 
the world was hateful, and she was utterly miserable, and 
never could be happy any more, crouched down in the 
darkest niche she could find, and buried her swollen, tear- 
stained face in her hands. 

Half an hour or less after, Fred came cantering home 
from M.’s, and quickly turning his horse to the pasture, 
came tramping in, singing as he came ; but Elza, though 
devoted to music, would not aid or listen, feehng only 
mocked by the cheeiy, ringing strains. They soon ceased, 
however, as Fred, sitting down by the light, began to talk 
something about ‘Hhat new book”; but she did not know 
what it was, nor care to know. Mamma remarked : 


174 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


“ You had better read it aloud.” 

But Elza was not going to be interested if he did. No, 
indeed ; she was not going to listen to a word of it, not she. 
But Ered, knowing little of her trial, and nothing of her 
contempt for his prize, cleared his throat, and innocently 
began. 

The book was that beautiful creation of Goldsmith’s, “ The 
Yicar of Wakefield” (also including The Traveller,” and 
“ Deserted Village ”), and, as Fred’s sonorous voice rolled 
along the polished periods, the youthful misanthrope found 
to her surprise that she was a httle mistaken about ‘‘ not 
hstening,” and not quite so dead to the world as she had sup- 
posed. She could not help listening, she could not help ad- 
miring those inimitable pictures of simple, homely joys, and 
care-free country life. The cheerful united summer labors 
in field and meadow; the dining and resting under the trees 
at noon, among the wild flowers and the birds; and the 
equally charming winter scenes, when with music, work and 
books, the contented, loving family gathered around the 
happy fireside. 

The mere sound served somewhat to divert, and the fine 
sense calmed and soothed her troubled mind. But when the 
‘‘ Family determined to make a figure,” furbish up Moses, 
Blackberry, and the colt; go to church in style, snub Mr. B., 
and exult in the acquaintance of the high-toned Miss Caro- 
line Amelia Wilhehnia Sheggs, etc., a new light began to 
brighten the sad eyes, new lines to curve the drooping, pen- 
sive lips. Ere she was aware she was smiling, then laugh- 
ing outright; and before the story closed, she had discovered 
that it was no use to pretend to be miserable any longer, 
for she was not. 

The ache and sting in her heart had been gradually wear- 
ing away, till now they were gone, she knew not whither, 
and all her angry, excited feelings were lulled to rest. She 
was forced to confess that in spite of her bitter disappoint- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


175 


ment, it had been a very nice evening. And from that time 
on, the Vicar was ever more associated in her mind with 
this great childish grief, and she always after felt a kind 
regard for the genial magician that had come to her that 
night like a benison, and so gently charmed away her wrath 
and sorrow. 

Nor was the sudden intimacy between the owner of the 
book and her son, at all so short-lived as Bessie had antici- 
pated, for this ‘‘ good-for-nothingest boy in the world ” be- 
came one of the closest, most esteemed friends, not only of 
Fred’s, but of the whole family. 

Not long after confessing his wrong to Si. M., and sealing 
a compact of friendship with him, to last while sun and 
moon should shine; this- hope of the house contrived to get 
himself into a snarl with another boy, that did not end quite 
so pleasantly. Henry Lacy was one of the handsomest, 

best dressed, best mounted young striplings in XJ . His 

clothes were not only finer, but more fashionably made ; 
his colt sleeker and faster, and his watch costlier and with 
more seal attached, than any other farmer’s boy around 
could boast. Ahd so well aware was he of all these distinc- 
tions, that he seldom consorted with those of his own age, 
and sometimes almost ignored their presence in company. 
These were his faults ; he was not idle, quarrelsome, or pro- 
fane, but simply inflated with pride and vanity. But this 
self-importance was very exasperating to the other boys, 
and many a time they frowned and muttered, as with neck 
curved as proudly as his blooded nag’s, and scarce a nod of 
recognition to them, he galloped by. The Grand Mogul 
could scarcely have carried himself more loftily, or held 
himself further aloof. 

One day at home, as Frederick was complaining of some 
fresh insult from Henry, a happy thought struck him, and 
he exclaimed, exultingly : 

“ rU teU you what I’ll do. I’ll Hal Lacy ! ” 


176 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


This sudden announcement did not startle the family 
nearly so much as it would now, because boxing was very 
common then, both among men and boys ; yet the T.’s con- 
sidered it a rude pastime, and still less would they tolerate 
it if carried on in anger, and they at once expressed their 
disapproval. 

“ Why, father,” returned Fred, “ you and mother don’t 
begin to know how provoking Hal is ; if you did, you would 
say some of us ought to box him.” 

‘‘ No,” said the father, “ I should never encourage that kind 
of thing, even if Henry were much more provoking than he 
is ; but from your own account he goes about his own 
affairs, and meddles with none of yours. You had better 
follow the same course, and keep yourself out of mischief.” 

When he had gone out, Fred continued : 

“ Why, father needn’t be so careful of Hal. I only mean 
to cure him of a few of his tricks, but don’t intend to hurt 
him much.” 

“ Oh, as to that,” said mamma, laughing, “ as Hal is both 
older and larger than you, I daresay he can defend him- 
self ; and it is more than likely it will be my laddie who 
will fall in the battle.” 

“ No fear of that,” cried the young stalwart; “ I can 
settle the pretty fop directly. He’s two years older, I know, 
but I do not care for that. I’ll make him ciy for quarter 
in less than no time. You’ll see ; but (magnanimously), as 
I said before, I won’t hurt him much.” 

But as Fred, like many others when in a passion, often 
said more than he meant, they supposed that when cool 
again he would probably think no more about it, so they 
had better say nothing more, and it would soon drop and 
be forgotten. But this proved a false induction, for Fred 
was in grave earnest this time ; and it soon began to be 
whispered among the clan that all their slights were to be 
avenged at the first fitting occasion. This offered before 
long, when aU the parties met at the Jones’ husking-bee : 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


177 


and some one soon canied the challenge to Hal, who seemed 
neither surprised nor disturbed, but stepped forth with 
alacrity. 

Both sexes at that period powdered their hair, and gen- 
erally wore it hanging down, plaited or tied, and the longer 
and heavier the better. But Bacy, having heard before 
what awaited hin^ had acted on the adage that ‘‘ Everything 
is fair in war,” and had his head shaved like a monk’s, while 
his antagonist’s hung full and long, as usual. All saw at a 
glance what an advantage this would give the former ; and 
they cried “ Shame ! ” “ MeanJ ” “ Unfair ! ” etc. 

But their champion grandiloquently scorned the danger ; 
and, brave as Mars, strong as Hercules, smiled at the hub- 
bub, and royally waving his hand for silence, addressed his 
peers ; rising to the occasion by imitating, as nearly as pos- 
sible, the style of some stump orator he had heard : 

‘‘ Let that pass, my friends ; let all pass. We yield the 
advantage ; fair, or unfair, let the enemy come with all his 
powers. We wait ! we are ready ! I say, ‘ Let the foe ad- 
vance ’ ! ” 

And the foe did advance gallantly, and ‘‘ then came the 
fug of war.” 

Neither of the boys knew or heeded any rules for fight- 
ing, but each in his own way struggled manfully, and cuffed 
and pummeled with all his might ; and the others looked 
on, and laughed and cheered. 

But Fred discovered, when too late, that that shaven 
crown, so smooth and slippery, affording scarcely more grip 
than a glass ball, was a master-piece of strategy ; for his 
long hair, whisking round, was continually being captured 
by the foe, and held tightly; while he, nearly powerless, was 
pelted at will, till, by a powerful effort and at the risk of his 
scalp, he would wrench it away and recover his lost ground, 
and hold it well, till the next turn again brought his cue 
within Hal’s grasp. 

8 * 


178 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


But why go on ? The result was most disastrous, — a total 
defeat of the ‘‘allied powers’’; and the victor marched 
haughtily away, “ not much hurt ” indeed, but prouder now 
than ever. 

As al] considered the conquest unfairly won, none thought 
the less of Fred’s strength or courage ; but he himself, be- 
ing as ambitious as Caesar, never brooking to be second in 
anything, felt exceedingly^ chagrined and vastly dishonored. 
Then he had been so confident of a different result, and had 
boasted so loudly, it is no wonder that it was with a shamed 
and lengthened visage he turned homeward, to give an 
account of himself to his parents. They, however, knowing 
his proud and sensitive nature, and seeing how much he 
was suffering already through the humihation, as well as the 
beating, thought perhaps he was sufficiently punished, and 
said but little on the subject. But secretly they were quite 
resigned to his misfortune, and thought the affair had ended 
admirably, and they hoped most salutary effects from it. 
They trusted that this seasonable defeat would check their 
boy’s excessive self-esteem and boastfulness ; teach him to 
have more respect for their advice ; destroy all taste for 
such low, rude pursuits, and, above all, cause him to re- 
member in future, and heed the divine precept that bade 
him “ rule his own spirit,” and leave off contention before it 
be meddled with. 

Nor were they entirely mistaken, for though the van- 
quished hero soon recovered his spirits and his self-esteem, 
and always indulged some love of pre-eminence, they never 
more prompted him to seek fame among the pugilists, or led 
him into bear-baiting, cock-fighting, or any other cruel, de- 
basing sport (as they did many). And for all his hfe, this 
one occasion, when he was moved to take on himself the 
burden of reforming the manners of the ingrate Lacy, was 
his last fight, — the first, and last time, that Fred Traulie 
ever graced, or disgraced, the “boxing ring.” But if he 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


179 


“came to grief” in the “ring,” there were other things in 
which he excelled. He was not only a good player and 
prime mover in almost all kinds of proper games, but a good 
story-teller; and as he grew to manhood, a keen debater, 
and also a fine singer, and something of a rhymist; making 
many rebuses and acrostics for the girls, and witty, amus- 
ing squibs on the lads. These, and other accomplishments, 
added to his buoyant spirits and inexhaustible humor, made 
him a favorite in society, and he was invited far and near, 
and went out a great deal. Still, he was not at all dissipated, 
but spent a large part of his evenings very quietly and hap- 
pily with the home-circle alone; — ^where mamma, in her easy- 
chair, carded wool or spun fiax, in one corner; and papa, in 
his easy-chair, rested in the other; and the round-table, sur- 
rounded by the children, filled the space between. Various 
pursuits were followed here. Sometimes they wrote com- 
positions; every now and then submitting their last vejge, 
or period, to the family admiration or criticism; sometimes 
they aU practiced the new pieces for the next singing- 
school, etc.; but many whole evenings, and parts of many 
others, the girls, too, carried on some quiet kind of work, 
while Fred read aloud to all. His appetite was never feeble, 
but singing, reading aloud, and sharp, frosty weather whetted 
it still more ; so, by nine o’clock, or sooner, mamma would 
produce a basket of nice apples, a platter of tender, delicious 
doughnuts, and perhaps a pitcher of milk or cider. After 
all, or as many as chose, had partaken, the working and 
reading were resumed till, by and by, papa and mamma, 
feeling that sleep was more seasonable than history or 
poetry, however good, would retire. But the young ones 
often sat the volume through; and then, cuddling round the 
fire, discussed and criticised it; and laughed, and chatted, 
and sung, till the remnants of the huge heap of oak and 
hickory that had filled the hearth at twilight, and for hours 
had blazed, and sparkled, and roared up the wide chimney, 


180 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


• fell together a shapeless mass, and silently smouldered 
among the snowy ashes and glowing coals. And still they 
lingered; basked in the grateful warmth, re-read striking 
paragraphs, tried one more apple, tried one more tune, till 
sometimes the clock striking eleven, or a call from mamma, 
admonished them that they must sing the closing hymn, for 
the evening, too, as well as ‘‘the day,” was “past and gone.” 
Peaceful, happy seasons were these ; remembered and loved 
through life, and thus they came, and thus too quickly sped, 
those nights at home, those long-past winter nights. 


CHAPTEK XXVII. 

^ “ She is a mourner, and her heart is broken ; 

She is a widow, she is ol^ and poor.’' 

Rum, rum, brings curres dire. 

Ah, many a wife a martyr dies without the rack and fire. 

New settlers were always welcomed cordially by the com- 
munity, if they were of the proper kind. But when a fam- 
ily arrived that, instead of being beneficial, appeared Hkely 
to prove a disgrace and a burden, the larger part received 
them rather coldly, and many neglected them entirely. Of 

this latter class were the Doans, from M and from 

most they met with but a chilling reception, for they were 
not only miserably poor, but had a degraded, vagabondish 
look generally, that was anything but promising. The 
parents looked old and feeble; the sons were mostly grown; 
but the fifth was a cripple who had never walked, and the 
other four were gxeat, shambling, lazy, worthless drones, of 
little use at home or abroad; while the sixth, and last, was 
a poor, neglected-looking girl of thirteen. And yet the 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


181 


coldest acknowledged that the mother, “ Granny D., seemed 
a decent, pious old body, and would do well if better situa- 
ted.” Poor Mary D. ! her history is that of countless num- 
bers. The same curse that has blighted a million other 
homes had blighted hers. She had married with as fair 
prospects as others; both were young and industrious, full 
of hope and energy. Land was cheap, timber abundant, 
nothing to prevent their soon owning a house and farm like 
their neighbors. 

But James D. drank, — very moderately, it was true ; at 
first only the slightest sip, when the bottle passed round in 
the haiwest-field, at huskings, on election days, etc. Just a 
httle now and then , — only a little; but thus the terrible 
taste was formed, and gradually it grew and grew. Before 
very long, business began to be neglected more and more, 
and customers dropped off one by one. No more property 
was gained, and what little they possessed began slowly 
but surely to melt away. In half a dozen years or so after 
his marriage, he was known as a confirmed drunkard ; and 
though he worked occasionally, it was so irregular, and so 
much was sj)ent on liquor, that his family often lacked the 
very necessaries of life. Mary, the kind and faithful wife, 
had always borne her full proportion of the burden of 
labor ; but now felt constrained, in addition to her own tasks, 
to take up what his idle, worthless hands had laid down. 
If he would not support the family, she must ; and having 
formed her resolution, she went out to engage work at once. 
This was soon done, but the children troubled her. If car- 
ried with her, they would hinder the work, and annoy her 
employers, and they were too young to stay alone. But gen- 
erally she was forced to leave them so, while she went forth 
day by day to wash, clean house, act as field hand, do any- 
thing to earn honest bread. Often she labored thus, five 
days in the week, and washed, mended,— did all her own 
work at night and on Saturday. Meantime, James was 


182 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


absent a great deal, carousing with his boon companions, 
and in their vile society growing worse and worse ; and 
what httle he worked was mostly done around still-houses 
and taverns, only enough for his own support and liquor. 
Occasionally, he would come home nearly or quite sober, 
bringing a httle meal, a bit of bacon, or such like, to the 
family ; but much oftener returned empty-handed to de- 
vour the hard-earned stores of the feeble wife, and to abuse 
her in drunken frenzy, with brutal language and cruel 
blows. And thus the bitter, dreary years dragged on. She 
had longed, and hoped, and prayed for her husband’s re- 
form in vain, till she had almost ceased to expect or think of 
it ; but as all hope of happiness with him was abandoned, 
so much the closer she clung to her children. For them 
she toiled harder than the galley-slave, “through summer’s 
heat and winter’s cold.” Watched over them in health and 
sickness, through weary days and sleepless nights, — watched 
and wept with all a mother’s measureless, tireless love. On 
them every earthly hope was centred. They would grow 
up strong, and fair, and good ; reward aU her care and 
pains, comfort her declining years, and be her crown of re- 
joicing forever. But alas! alas! for the mother’s hopes, 
“ She looked for good, but evil came,” Dark and gloomy 
as her past had been, her future was to be shrouded in ten- 
fold gloom. 

As her sons verged toward manhood, — one by one they, 
too, began to tamper with the accursed cup : at first, but 
slightly, and secretly ; but by and by, grown bolder and 
more hardened in sin, would sit at home and drink shame- 
lessly before their mother’s eyes. In vain she wept, and 
warned, and implored them to desist, for their father drank ; 
— their father laughed and encouraged them ; and blindly, 
sottishly they followed in his footsteps, till at last all became 
di'unkards, as wicked and degraded as himself (one only 
escaping, the youngest, the poor weakling), And yet there 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


183 


were men (were they men or demons ?) who, knowing all 
this poor woman had suffered, would sell this family the 
poison, and after securing their money, drive them from 
their premises homeward, sending this whole gang of pro- 
fane and quarrelsome sots to insult and tortui’e the wretched 
wife and mother. It was sometimes said apologetically, 
“ Yes, Mr. O. runs a*distillery, and Mr. P. has a liquor store, 
— those D.’s get most of theirs from them ; but never drink 
there, for they both keep very decent, quiet houses, and 
allow no drinking on their premises.” But why not ! — were 
they ashamed of their own work ? Surely, if there is a fit- 
ting place to drain the liquid fire, this side tophet, ifc is 
where ifc is made and sold. If any must vdtness its terrible 
effects, should it not be those who administer it ? 

It is a world-wide custom to keep on exhibition samples 
of the wares dealt in or manufactured. Why should not 
these liquor-dealers have done the same ? The five drunken 
D.’s, and a score or so of brother topers, “tattered and 
torn,” reefing, fighfcing, swearing, defying heaven and earth, 
and polluting the very air with their ribaldry, would have 
been a telling advertisement of their business. Respecta- 
ble distiller! Decent liquor-house! What misnomers are 
these terms. What an abuse of language. 

Is it not enough that in these dens of Satan, the wretched 
dupes are tempted out of their all, — to the last penny? 
Their suffering children robbed of bread : poison — only 
poison — received in return? Poison to frenzy fche brain, 
wreck character, curse body, curse soul forever ? Must the 
madmen then be sent forth to carry terror to their helpless 
families ? — to break and burn their scanty stores, and in maud- 
lin glee dance around the destroying fire, drinking to the ruin? 
Sometimes forcing wives and children to drink with them, 
or, their mood soon changing to demoniac rage, pursuing 
them with heavy blows, driving them out shivering in the 
midnight storm, or maiming, or murdering them in their 


184 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


beds! O terrible rum traffic! more deadly, more cruel, 
than a thousand Molochs, when will the besom of destruc- 
tion sweep thee forever from our sin-blighted eai-th ? 

The curse had fallen with crushing weight on the D. 
family, and it was then, when scarcely any change could be 

for the worse, that they decided to leave M and in all 

their poverty arid squalor, made their dlihut in U . The 

father, worn out, but less with age than with vice, survived 
this change but a short time; and, as men usually die as 
they have lived, so did he. Miserably he had lived, and 
miserably he died; and the dry-eyed neighbors, with “scant 
ceremony,” hustled him under ground; whispering to each 
other, “ A good riddance”; “ A fortunate thing for Granny ”; 
“ The loss of more of them would be a gain,” etc. Their 
cold indifference could scarcely be blamed, for they saw him 
only as he was: the bloated, loathsome drunkard. But 
poor Granny saw him as he once was, a promising youth, 
an honorable man, a tender lover, a kind, true husband. 
Thought of all that “ might have been,” of all that loas, and 
sorely she wept over the wreck and ruin rum had made. 

The sons, descended from such a sire, and from a mother 
habitually worn down and overtasked in mind and body, 
had not inherited very vigorous constitutions; and exposure 
and excesses of all kinds had weakened them stiU more. 
But they took no warning from their father’s fate, refused 
all counsel, and ran, with head-long speed, the downward 
road. “ Being often reproved, they hardened their necks,” 
and went heedlessly on to “be destroyed without remedy.” 
And one after another they, too, sank down to the drunk- 
ard’s grave, and went to the drunkard’s doom. 

But, through all their sin and shame, one had never for- 
gotten, never forsaken them; through everything, the much- 
injured, long-suffering mother had clung to her outcast chil- 
di’en, forgiven and loved them, and she loved them to the 
end. Like a pitying angel, she hovered round their pillows, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


185 


and watched and prayed; while her own feeble, withered 
hands ministered to their wants and fondly soothed their 
pains. And when even her love and prayers could do no 
more, and swiftly the last dread hour approached, shudder- 
ing with horror, still she kept her post, watched, in untold 
anguish, their dying pangs, and bowed, in despairing grief, 
above their Christless graves. Being a plain Christian, hap- 
pily knowing nothing of the glosses and sophistries of 
rationalists and critics, she received the whole Bible for 
truth divine, truth only ; and all its history, promises, and 
threatenings as real, not figiu^ative. Judgment and an eternity 
of bliss or woe, according to the deeds done in the body, were 
dread reahties to her; and no popish fables of a cleansing 
purgatory after death for the sinful soul, could ease her 
pain; no Utopian dream of a heaven for all, yielded her the 
least relief. She believed God’s word rather than man’s, 
and in it she had learned of but two future states, prepared, 
the olie for the saved, the other for the lost ; and these two, 
divided by a gulf impassable. He had testified, in language 
unmistakable, “ Wliatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also 
reap.” . . . . “ The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all 
the nations that forget God. And these shall go away into 
everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal.” 

God is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.” . . . “ Ex- 
cept ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.” And in the 
face of these texts, and hundreds of like meaning, what hope 
could she see for unrepenting sinners? If (as the Bible 
plainly taught) worldliness alone was fatal, if only forgetting 
and neglecting salvation destroyed the soul, what shadow of 
hope was there for vice ? It taught that the purest moralist 
could not stand before God; that the strictest formalist in 
religion was vile in His sight; and all mere human righteous- 
ness but filthy rags; and if none could be saved by their 
own good works, where must the impious and profane ap- 
pear ? And of this latter class, alas ! of such were her dead. 


186 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


.... Yet she dared not charge Grod foolishly, nor lay their 
ruin on Him. Had He not placed them in a Christian .land 
and given them time and crpportunity to seek salvation? 
Given them a chiding conscience, a striving spirit. Sabbaths, 
sermons, an open Bible, and living teachers to instruct, per- 
suade, and warn. Yes, God had done much for them ; 
what had they done for Him, or for themselves ? They had 
despised His laws, dishonored his Sabbaths, neglected His 
house and word, shunned and hated His ministers, resisted 
His Spirit, held fast their iniquity, and refused to return. 

It was over now. She could counsel them no longer. She 
could pray for them no more. They were gone — and where ! 
Nature sickened and fainted at the thought, but grace up- 
held. The Judge of all the earth would do right She could 
but still the wild tumult in her heart, and leave them in His 
hands 

But it is only the rich who can wear the costly trappings 
and indulge in the luxury of woe; whatever betide, the ‘‘ poor 
must work for their bread.” Two of her family still re- 
mained, and for their sakes she would shake off the lethargy 
of despair, and live and struggle a little longer. She was old 
and worn, but Nanny was young and strong; and though labor 
was but poorly* rewarded, she hoped, by careful manag- 
ing, they might provide decently for themselves and their 
helpless Jamie, and so, for awhile, they did. But, for this 
most hapless wife and mother. 

Misery liad another cup. 

And to the brim she filled it up. 

Two years after the last doleful funeral passed over her 
crumbling threshold, another sorrow darkened it, a great, 
an overwhelming sorrow; and this time Nanny, the darling. 


* Fifty cents a week was a girl’s common wages then, and some- 
times less. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


187 


the only daughter, brought the grief and shame. Obliged 
to be away among strangers, laboring, where she could find 
a place, a drunkard’s child, with none to care for her, direct 
or protect, she had drifted out among godless companions, 
who, having thrown off restraint and made themselves vile, 
sought to tempt and taint all around them, and, with many, 
too well they succeeded. Here Nanny’s principles were 
gradually undermined, till she at length swerved oi)enly 
from the paths of virtue, and continued straying farther and 
farther in sin, till her once fond mother learned to shrink 
at the sound of her footsteps, and blush to hear her name. 
Poor Granny ! Poor Granny D. ! How much, how long, 
she had labored, and loved, and hoped, and suffered; and 
all for what ? 

Now, youth, health, strength, hope, all were gone : she could 
do nothing more, and, utterly crushed and heart-broken, she 
gave up the struggle and came with her maimed and feeble 
Jamie on the town. Paul T. was overseer of the poor, and 
went as soon as notified to confer on and attend to the case. 
Some felt and expressed genuine pity for the poor unfortu- 
nates, and all agreed that they were incapable of self- 
support ; but more than one grumbled and hinted that they 
ought to be returned to their native place. None, however, 
were so determined and persistent as Sally Thornel, the pru- 
dent woman of the district. Over and over again the old 
dame came on her sleek steed (“ the eyes of both standing- 
out with fatness ”) to advise, coax, or scold Paul into this 
measure, urging, “We have poor folks enough of our own, 
and taxes are high enough, dear knows. The old mother 
possibly mightn’t trouble us very long — maybe, but Jimmie’s 
lameness will never kill. He may live fifty or sixty years, 

and what a bill he will run up ! An overseer in old N 

said one j)auper (a crazy one) had been an expense of $3,000 
to the county, and he was strong and hearty still ; good for 
$3,000 more, likely. Now,” she continued, “do, do try to 
get rid of this pair, will you ? ” 


18 ^ 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Paul made some evasive reply and tried to change the 
subject, but the “woman of business” interrupted. 

“ Come now, neighbor T., let us finish this first. You see, 
them D.’s will have to be taken care of the rest of their 
lives, and none of ’em was ever any use here ; they belong 
to M and do. you send them there.” 

Mr. T. as politely as possible proposed that “ as she was 
more anxious than any one else, she should pack them up 
and send them herself.” 

“ This is nothing to joke about,” returned Sally, severely. 

You are overseer, — your work has been to tend the poor this 
many a day; do tend to these and get ’em started afore 
the winter sets in, or besides their board, we’ll have a lot of 
new clothes to get.” 

But Paul replied that “ They had been citizens of U 

too long to be returned, and he, for one, would have nothing 
to do with any measure for banishing Granny: she had suf- 
fered enough akeady.” 

So the matter dropped with aU but Sally, who talked and 
worried over it for years, without being able to accomplish 
anything. At that day there was no County House. The 
poor were “let out,” or “boarded round,” and this new lot, 
the D.’s, fell to Mr. T. himself. So the loom-house, a snug 
room hard by his own, was cleared out and fitted up. Gran- 
ny’s own scanty, but familiar “ household stock,” was arranged 
around it ; a cheerful fire built on the wide hearth, and her- 
self and Jamie moved in. Here, without her thought or 
care, shelter, food, fuel, everything, was furnished liberally, 
and, with none to molest, she spread her own table, and sat 
by her own bright fire. The T.’s, old and young, were kind 
and considerate to her, for they not only “ pitied her for the 
trials she had borne,” but honored her many virtues, and 
often dropped in by night and by day, to cheer her loneli- 
ness, or with knitting - work, sewing, or a book, went to 
spend the entire evening with her and Jamie. It needed 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


189 


but a draught from Lethe^ to make this the happiest period. 
Granny had known since her youth; and though the sad 
past was not forgotten, time gTaduaUy softened its pains, 
and the combined influence of kindness, rest, plenty, and 
safety, added to her earnest piety, made her contented and 
grateful, and sometimes even cheerful. 

She became strongly attached to these true friends and 
fellow-Christians, and also to the place; thanking Heaven for 
so cahn a harbor after her dark and stormy life, and humbly 
hoping and trusting here to spend and end the remnant of 
her days. This seemed a very humble wish, a very small 
petition, but it might not be Once more the way- 

worn pilgrim heard the summons, ‘‘Arise, for this is not 
your rest.” There was a “ County House ” ready now, and 
the poor from all the districts were to be congregated there, 
under one roof. Of course there came an “ order ” for the 
D.’s too: and their unwillingness to obey, their tears and 
entreaties to remain where they were, all passed for noth- 
ing. The little home was broken up, and they were carried 
away to join, and make a part of the motley throng of all 
ages and colors, of diseased, deformed, idiotic, insane, de- 
gTaded, repulsive humanity that filled the common poor- 
house. There, Granny could not but feel, not only the bu- 
rn ihation of, but the hardness of her cruel lot. Others, who 
began the race with her, had, without a tithe of her striving, 
won the goal, gained competence, honor, friends, and home; 
while she, for all her weary days and sleepless nights — her 
seventy years of ceaseless care and hardship and unremitting 
toil — had gained little but a hfe of pinching penury and 
crushing trials, and for her age a pauper’s dole, a pauper’s 
shame. She had read, “ In all labor there is profit, and the 
hand of the diligent maketh rich.” And for all her care 
and toil was this — was this indeed, her only reward ? Why, 
the most useless, idle drone, the veriest blot on society, 
could scarcely have expected less or fallen lower. True, she 


190 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


had been on charity before, but during those halcyon days 
with the T.’s, she had scarcely realized her position ; but 
here, no flowers concealed the cruel chains ’’ of fate; all was 
hard, unrelenting reahty. And often when rudely crowded 
and vexed by the unclean, noisy clan; feeble and harassed, 
with nerves unstrung, and brain throbbing with pain, she 
longed unutterably for the mountain-side, to rest once more 
in the peaceful cot by the Bedstone, cool her fevered brow 
in its waters, and sleep with their murmur in her ear. But 
the longing and wishing were vain, — ^utterly in vain. 

Poor Granny D., her faith had long been tried in the flery 
furnace. What wonder if it was sometimes weak, seemed 
well-nigh lost, and that terrible doubts and fears arose in 
her troubled mind ? 

Did God, indeed, know her sorrows? Could He really 
love her, and yet permit such countless griefs and tempta- 
tions to assail her ? True, she read, Whom the Lord lomth 
He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth.” 

Satan himself could not make her envy the wicked, how- 
ever rich and prosperous ; but he craftily reminded her that 
there were many Christians no better than herself, living 
all their days in ease and plenty; rolling in their coaches in 
silks and velvets, surrounded by godly famihes, dwelling in 
happy homes. All this and Heaven besides. Where are the 
chastening and scourging here? Why, if your Master is 
no respecter of persons, does He make you so to differ ? Have 
you not kept His ordinances in vain, and served God for 
naught ? 

Sometimes faint, discouraged, and perplexed, she could 
“ answer him not a word but again by prayer and the 
sword of the Spirit, “ resisted the devil and he fled from 
her.” One comfort she had, and that from what had gener- 
ally been considered one of her great burdens and crosses. 
Jamie became hopefully pious, and of all her family, this 
poor cripple and feUow-sufferer, proved her only hope and 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


191 


helper. Together they had ever horne the ills of hfe, and 
shared its little good, and now together they sought to 
strengthen their wavering faith by reading God’s Word, 
and spake often one to another of its precious truths. 

The highest intellect never yet comprehended the ways of 
Providence, or why events are ordered, or families or na- 
tions dealt with thus and so ; g,nd certainly this humble, 
unlettered pair could not solve the wonderful problem. But 
the}^ could pray to be kept from meddling with things too 
high for them to understand, and for submission to His will, 
who had made both rich and poor, and with them and all 
things would do right. He had promised His people, 
“AU things shall work together for your good; and what I 
do you know not now, but you shall know hereafter.” And 
they would strive to cease their repining and env^dng at the 
good of others, and trust and wait. And then, too, perhaps 
they found some comfort in likening their condition to that 
of their Divine, yet lowly. Master, who for their sakes had 
become of no reputation, had lived a hfe of poverty and 
died a death of shame. 

And this surely should be a great consolation to aU lowly 
disciples, to remember that it was among the humblest of 
their class that the Saviour chose His birth. His friends, and 
passed His life. If they are poor, so was He ; ‘‘born in a 
borrowed stable, buried in a borrowed tomb,” and through 
all His days “ having not where to lay His head.” Are they 
lightly esteemed ? “ He was despised and rejected of men.” 

Are they sad and hopeless ? His soul was exceedingly sor- 
rowful, even unto death. Are they sick and suffering? 
None ever suffered agony like their blessed Master’s. 

In aU things the Lord of glory was made like unto them, 
not like the rich, the great, the happy. And if their condi- 
tion brings some temptations, it is exempt from others. Dr. 
Johnson once exclaimed, as a friend displayed to him his 
costly mansion, and all his grand possessions : “ Ah, Davy ! 
these are the things that make death terrible.” 


192 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


And to leave great joys and many treasures here, is ter- 
rible to those who have none laid up above ; and doubtless 
give an added pang even to the Christian’s death. But 
from love of the world, and many temptations and snares 
that beset wealth and state, the poor suffering believer is 
largely delivered. 

It rarely requires a vo^mo of “ Dying Thoughts ” and 
learned arguments to wean him from earth, and persuade 
him that Christ and heaven are better, and that death is 
gain. Oh, no ! Many such have had so few ties, and have so 
longed to leave this world of sin and pain, to “ see the King 
in His beauty and dwell with Him in the land that is afar 
off,” that they have been fain to check their warm desires 
and sue for patience to wait their appointed time. 

And the D.’s, little, very little, had they to bind them to a 
world that had truly to them proved a vale of tears. Liter- 
ally strangers and pilgrims, they lived by faith, and aU their 
inheritance was on high. 

In the dreary years that followed their removal to the 
alms-house, one of the few pleasures that varied the sad 
monotony, was an occasional visit from one or another of 
the T.’s, who went now and then to caU on their former 
charge, and assure them of their continued remembrance, 
regard, and sympathy. These little kindnesses were very 
grateful to the lonely, friendless pair, and were continued 
at intervals for years ; but by and by they needed them no 
longer ; strangers filled their places, and Granny and Jamie 
were gone. 

Long ago those maimed, withered, worn-out bodies, were 
borne away, and without holy rites or mourners’ tears hid- 
den in the potter’s field, none guessing as they tossed the 
rough clods with heartless haste, that under those rude, 
nameless mounds slumbered the children of a King.” By 
all the world neglected, forgotten; no man knoweth their 
place of sepulchre ; but what matters it ? J esus never for- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


193 


gets, never forsakes. Living or dying, He knowetli His own 
and guards the dust of every sleeping saint. And when He 
comes to make up His jewels, and gather His elect from land 
and sea, from palace and hovel, hieath minster domes or 
pauper graves ; then, when all the proud, and all that do 
wickedly shall be stubble, shall these meek, suffering ones 
(with all who have endured to the end) be safe and blessed. 
Sown in dishonor, but raised in glory, exalted to the many 
mansions, the new song, the harps and crowns, to be for- 
ever with the Lord, and enjoy the all things ” prepared 
for them who love Him. For these are of them “ which 
came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, 
and made them white in the blood of the Lamb ; therefoi’e 
are they before the throne.” . . . . ‘‘ They shall hunger 
and thirst no more, for the Lamb shall feed them, and lead 
them to living waters they shall weep and sorrow no more, 
for God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” 


CHAPTEE XXVm. 

Hear the merry wedding-bells, golden bells ! ” 

Meanwhile time was flying, and everywhere scattering 
changes in its flight. The T.’s felt them too ; not even in 
their sweet hermitage, afar from noise and strife, had they 
discovered the mystic fountains that exempted from Time’s 
power. Paul’s and Bessie’s brows were less smooth ; there 
were “ silver threads among the brown ” ; while the children 
were daily growing taller and stronger, and leaving their 
happy childhood behind them. It was well that Eose had 
so loved and revelled in its joys, for of the pleasures of the 
next period — youth — she was destined to know but little 
9 


194 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


more than the name. She was in her teens now, growing 
up hthe and slender ; fair, blue-eyed, with a good form, a 
well-shaped head, and an abundance of very dark brown 
hair. She was tall for her age, and as she had much force 
of character and uncommon firmness, really seemed older 
than she was ; and, if not extremely pretty, she was at least 
very interesting and attractive, as she had unconsciously 
captivated the hearts of more than one of the neighboring 
swains before she was fifteen. One of these, braver or more 
ardent than the rest, soon made his sentiments known ; and 
as he possessed a fair character, and was sufficiently agree- 
able and well-born, she accepted him as an escort, and be- 
fore many months as a favored suitor. It was common for 
girls to marry very young then, but all did not approve of 
it ; so that when Mr. Elmer waited on the parents, not only 
asking their daughter’s hand, but that it might be bestowed 
at an early day, they looked grave, demurred, and finally 
entirely refused to sanction such haste. They did not dis- 
pute his right to take a wife, nor his ability to support one ; 
his age and circumstances were suitable enough. But Kose 
was too young to know her own mind yet (probably) ; and 
at all events, was far to young to be married or engaged 
either. At eighteen or nineteen, she would be abundantly 
young to assume the cares of life ; certainly it would be 
best to postpone the nuptials for two years at least. And 
if at the end of this period both were still constant, they 
would offer no further objection. 

The young folks had too much good sense to consider 
the parents cruel or unreasonable, and were too well-trained 
to think of disobeying them, eloping, or anything of the 
kind ; yet, all the same, the terms were unsatisfactory to 
both. Still Kose, trusting her parents’ love and wisdom, 
would have accepted them quietly ; but Ehner was con- 
stantly unsettling her by seeking to have them modified, 
and by affirming that “ she did not love him well — at least 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


195 


not with the deathless devotion he felt for her — or she 
could not silently bear a wearisome delay of years.” Said 
he would not ast her to marry without her parents’ con- 
sent, but if she were half as ardent as he, she would assist 
him in gaining it.” And with the knowledge of human 
nature his twenty-five years had brought, suggested that as 
other means had failed, perchance the seniors might be 
melted, not by letting “ concealment feed on their damask 
cheeks,” but by plainly showing their love and unhappi- 
ness ; and urged and conjured her to lend her aid. 

The tender-hearted maiden, thus appealed to, consented ; 
and thenceforward they played the role of the “ Lorn Lovers ” 
to perfection. 

Elmer presented himself week after week with a depressed 
air, and lengthened, care-worn visage ; while Eose began to 
avoid society, and go about her accustomed duties silent 
and abstracted ; often walking sadly under the pines along 
the Bedstone, or with her work or book sit pensively on its 
banks. She had always been a singer, warbhng like a bird 
from her infancy, but now her voice was seldom heard, ex- 
cept in some dolorous love-ditty. Nothing was sung of tell- 
er than the song from Twelfth Night,” beginning with — 

“ Come away, come away, death,” etc. 


" Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 

On my black coffin let there be strown ; 

Not a friend, not a friend weep 
O'er the grave where my bones shall be thrown,” etc. 

Paul T. was not specially sentimental or fond of any songs, 
and this class he could not appreciate at all. And after 
some weeks of this persecution he lost patience, and in a 
secret conference with Bessie declared that : 

“If this couple were to go on after this fashion — with 
Bose perpetually solemn and silent, or else crooning such 


196 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


abominable die-away trash, full of ‘ bleeding hearts,’ death and 
despai}', and all about her lone grave, her black coffin, and her 
bones, he neither could nor would endure it for two more 
years — the young simpletons might marry and be done 
with it.” 

Bessie could not help laughing at his free version and 
opinion of the soul-touching madrigals of the poets ; but 
she checked herself, and agreed that “they were really 
acting in a very uncomfortable sort of a way ; that Bose, 
though as dutiful as ever, was no longer the light and joy 
of the house. And she did not wonder he was growing 
weary of the performance, for she was also ” ; but added, 
gently, that “ they must not forget that they were lovers 
once themselves, and should understand and make allow- 
ance for others.” 

“ Aye, that we were,” he rejoined heartily, “ but you were 
not a chit of sixteen, but a woman of twenty, and I was 
twenty-eight. It is all right and natural to love and marry, 
so it be done wisely. There was ‘ no nonsense ’ about our 
com'tship ; and powerful as love is, I never would have 
thought that even it could have made so sensible a pair as 
this so childish and lackadaisical. As it is, we are making 
the whole household unhappy as Avell as them. Let us have 
an end of it.” 

And the end was that, after several more consultations 
between themselves, they decided it would be best to with- 
di'aw their objections, and they did so ; and Elmer, happy 
rogue, rejoicing in the success of his plan, bore away this 
fresh mountain rose in the first blush of its beauty. 

At the marriage, as the company was large, extra help 
had been engaged ; and one of the old “ merry wives,” 
looking up from the midst of her pots and pans as the 
younger sister entered, said, laughingly : 

“ Now, Miss Elza, I allow about next thing youil be off, 
and w^eil have another wedding dinner to make.” 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


197 


But the little maid gravely shook her curls, and answered 
with great dignity and decision : 

“ No, indeed ! I intend to enjoy myself.” 

This dubious compliment on matrimony by the wiseacre 
of thirteen, given so innocently and solemnly, diverted the 
cooks very much, and was repeated to the amused guests, 
who thought it a most palpable hit on the bride and groom ; 
and could not forbear adding the old proverb, ‘‘ Marry in 
haste,” etc., and reminding Bose, that as she was only six- 
teen, if she did not secure happiness she was pretty sure of 

abundance of “ leisure to repent ” of that day’s doings 

Next day the festivities were continued at the Elmer house; 
and after they closed, and various invitations had been re- 
ceived and responded to from other friends and acquaint- 
ances, the young couple prepared for housekeeping. The 
new home, situated a little south of the T.’s, and a mile east 
of the Elmers’, — perhaps half-way between the two, — stood 
near the edge of a thick forest, on ground slightly sloping 
toward the west. Hard by was an unfailing spring, whose 
soft, clear waters welled out from beneath a shady bank, 
and, half hidden by reeds and rushes, stole softly down 
the vale ; and, just beyond it, sloe-bushes and dogwoods 
spread their snowy blossoms, and beneath them violets, 
anemones, honeysuckles, and other wild flowers, grew in 
thick profusion. To these the young wife speedily added 
rose-trees and other roots from her mother’s garden, till the 
place was abloom; and here we leave them, to enjoy love in 
a cottage, and a life all their own. 


CHAPTEB XXIX. 

** Creeping, like snail, unwilling to school.’" 

Pebhaps Fred and Bose received as much schooling as 
most children of that day; but, from one cause and another, 


198 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


Elza received but little; but, as soon as sbe could speak, 
almost, sbe began learning from the elder children, and, at 
three years old, could read a little, and write legibly, or 
rather print, for it was pica type she copied. She was an 
odd little thing, had a strong j)enchant for public affairs, 
and was patriotic to the last degree. One day, while still 
quite small, Bessie found her with Rowland’s Atlas open on 
a chair, gazing long and admiringly at a map of the western 
hemisphere. 

We lives in ’Merica, don’t we ? ” she asked, as her mother 
sat down to her work. 

“ Yes,” said mamma. 

‘‘ It’s our own, our very own, isn’t it ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, yes,” said mamma, abstractedly, laying her patterns 
on her goods, and watching that the figures all ran one 
way, and right side out. 

When she found time to look up again, Elza was proudly 
spelling one hard name after another, and softly tracing the 
coast line from Behring’s Straits to far Cape Horn. 

“Well, sis,” she inquired, laughing, “you don’t claim aU 
that land, do you ? ” 

“ Yes, I does,” replied the student, “ it’s ’Merica all over 
this nice round map.” 

“ Oh, well, we don’t hve all over it, if it is, nor own it, 
either; don’t you count any below that line — ^that’s South 
America, and we live, you must know, in this part, up north, 
in the ‘ United States of North America.’ ” 

Slowly, and reluctantly, Elza retreated northward ; and 
pretty soon Bessie, glancing up from her work, saw her busy 
counting and surveying her possessions again ; this time 
measuring from the Isthmus of Darien to the North Pole. 

“Oh, child,” she called, “that wiU never do; I see you’re 
all wrong again.” 

But Elza answered, triumphantly : 

“No, I isn’t wrong a bit ; it’s aU in Norf ’Meiica, this 
time, where you said go.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


199 


“Eight, so far, Elza; but you go too far, every way; we 
don’t own the hundredth part of the land you are measur- 
ing. Pass me the book, and I will show you your claim,” 
and she set her thimbled finger on the United States, say- 
ing, “ That’s our land, daughter.” 

“Why, mammal” exclaimed Elza, as she glanced con- 
temptuously, at the small black spot designated; “that ain’t 
nothin’.” 

“ Oh, yes, it is — thirteen States, a very good country, and 
all we own,” said Bessie. 

“ Jest that, mamma,” retorted the child ; “ that leetle 
speck of a spot you most covered with your thimble ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Bessie; “that, and that only.” 

“ Oh, mamm^ ! ” cried Elza, in a tone of distress and dis- 
appointment, “that ain’t no ’Merica at all; I want my own 
big ’Merica.” 

Bessie was amused, but answered, chidingly (for she had 
a great regard for her country, and for those who had fought 
for it) : “ Now, Elza, don’t you be a bad, thankless child. 
You must know that a little time ago we had no country at 
all, not one foot of land; and would not have any now if our 
brave men had not gone and fought, more years than you 
have lived, to gain it. Mamma herself saw the soldiers on 
their dreary marches; saw them hungry, ragged, shivering; 
with their half-naked, frosted feet bleeding over the snow. 
And a great many of these poor fellows never saw their lit- 
tle boys and girls again, but were shot down or cut to pieces 
by the English; and all, that this good land might be ours. 
My little girl should never forget that her home — all our 
homes — were bought with their blood; but be forever grate- 
ful to them, and to God, who gave them the victory.” 

Elza was quite abashed at this long speech, and affected, 
too. Yes, she did love and pity the brave soldiers very 
much, and sighed over their griefs and sufferings ; but she 
could not forget her own griefs, either. What rude havoc 


200 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


mamma had made that afternoon among her fair possessions; 
yes, and in spite of all that could be said, she went to bed 
feeling wronged, dejected, and “ miserably poor.” 

That night Bessie reported the geography lesson to Paul; 
telling him what a high-minded, far-reaching young woman 
they had sleeping in the trundle-bed beside them. What a 
little spread-eagle, she was. She would be annexing Europe 
and Asia to “ her ’Merica ” pretty soon. 

The precocious infant should have more playmates; and 
some of these days might start to school; she would make a 
scholar if she had the opportunity. Before long she was 
sent, but only went two quarters, and both these before she 
was seven years old. The rude log school-house stood in a 
lovely spot, surrounded by a grove of oak,^a profusion of 
wild roses, and all manner of outdoor delights; yet Elza’s 
recollections of it were not specially pleasant. First, the 
distance, — a mile and a half, — was long for so small a trav- 
eller; and secondly, she went all alone, and half the way lay 
through a thick wood, that her fertile fancy peopled with 
she knew not what. But of one bugbear she very soon be- 
came certain, for she saw it often crouching in the thicket 
by the creek ; and though at some distance, and, so far, 
peaceable, there was no telling when it might arouse from 
its lair. And she daily passed through its dread vicinage 
with trembhng haste, and nightly rejoiced and wondered 
that she was still uninjured. Though in one sense brave 
and spirited, in others she was timid, and exceedingly afraid 
of ridicule; but after weeks of doubts and fears, ventured 
one day, when faitliless papa and teasing Fred were absent, 
to confide her dangers and hair-breadth escapes to her 
mother, and was soon enlightened. Her bugaboo was a dis- 
used bark wheel, left there by old father G.; and a clumsy, 
crazy, weather-stained old machine it was, Avith its menac- 
ing spikes reaching out on every side; and half hidden, half 
revealed, in the underwood, looked not all unlike some 
many-horned monster watching for its prey. 


ROSE AND EIZA. 


201 


This case was disposed of satisfactorily; but there were 
other trials too. Sometimes overcome with the long walk, 
heat, and unwonted confinement, she would fall asleep and 
drop from her seat to the floor, to rise frightened and blush- 
ing, to be frowned on by the master, and laughed at by the 
scholars. Then she had no reall}^ congenial mates ; most, if 
not all the pupils were much older than herself, and if not 
positively cross, were domineering or indifferent. However, 
there was one exception in Tilda Cheeth, a broad, short, 
black-eyed girl of thirteen, who was generally good-humored 
and patronizing ; but even her friendship brought trouble. 
Having accidentally discovered her protege’s talent for draw- 
ing, she forthwith ordered a picture. But the young artist 
having neither studio or stock in trade, Tilda surreptitiously 
tore a leaf out of her own copy-book for the w’ork, and di- 
rected Elza to take it, and sit at the obscurest corner of the 
writing-elesk, that ran round three sides of the room, where 
she soon joined her, bringing black ink for sketching and 
shading, and a generous handful of pokeberries for paint. 
Elza could imitate many flowers, but made a specialty of 
roses, and these were what her patron desired that day. No 
one disturbed them. The other students were all intent on 
their own studies, or their own mischief ; the master was en- 
gaged writing copies at the other side of the house, and 
the bouquet was growing apace, covered with blooms in 
every stage of development, and looking sweet enough to 
scent the whole house, when the lynx-eyed tutor suddenly 
espied them. Wondering what branch the large flaxen 
head and the small black one were bending over so closely, 
he tiptoed softly up in his slippers to see, and the very first 
intimation the artists had of his presence, was when his left 
hand snatched the drawing from between them, and the 
right wielded the ferule, bringing down half a dozen rous- 
ing thwacks on Tilda’s plump shoulders. On the little one 
he laid two or three gentle taps, accompanied by “ his most 
9 * 


202 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


judicial frown,” and handing her her discarded lesson-book, 
returned to his throne. Easy-going, good-natured Tillie', 
though her white shoulders were red and tingling with 
pain, treated the whole thing as a matter of course, and was 
laughing again directly; but Elza, though not hurt in the 
least, was hurt very badly. 

To be publicly called a bad girl, be frowned at and 
threatened with the rod, with all the girls nudging each 
other and laughing behind their books, and the boys mak- 
ing eyes at her over the top of their slates, was too much. 
This open disgrace and sly ridicule that was nothing to 
some, was everything to her, and she cried and sobbed in- 
consolably. And though Tillie pitied and coaxed, and whis- 
pered over and over, ‘‘Don’t cry, Elza; never you mind,' 
we’ll tell papa on old Crossgrain, so we will. There, there 
now ; never mind. Sissy; don’t cry no more.” 

Yet, “ Sissy did mind ” a great deal, and it was a long 
time before she could be comforted. But undoubtedly hei 
greatest trial was the Bayne children, five or six of whom 
attended school, and came a half-mile or so along her road. 
And great, overgrown, ill-bred, mischievous elves they were 
too, every one of them, boys and girls; half of the time teas- 
ing or tyrannizing over somebody. They were nearly related 
to the teacher, who often boarded with them, and the three 
elder children were the largest pupils in the school : two 
facts that may perhaps account for some of their airs and 
arrogance, and for the influence they had over others. Did 
Elza or any of the smaller scholars offer to join in any game 
started, some, or all of the B.’s would snarl out, “ No, you’ll 
not, neither ; we’ll not have you little cubs in the way. Clear 
out, clear out, with yourselves.” Was there a walk proposed 
to the creek, or to Wintergreen Hill ; to Marshal’s meadow 
for strawberries, or to Morton’s thicket for wild plums, 
these doughty autocrats were ready with their lordly orders 
as to who should go and who should not. And to all the smaller 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


203 


fiy it was proclaimed, “ No, you sha’n’t go where we go at 
aU. We ain’t a-goin’ to have no little brats along. Begone, 
every last one of you. If you don’t go back quick now, 
you’d better,” etc. If any persisted in following, a host of 
begrimed, ink-stained fingers would be pointed at them 
with derisive cries of, ‘‘Here comes the tag-afters,” “Hur- 
rah for the tag-tails,” “ Oh, Bubby and. Sissy, run home to 
mamma,” and so on. And by one means or another, they 
generally had their way, and cut the younger ones completely. 
Some of the scholars were not specially ill-natured, took no 
paH in these petty persecutions, but they were thoughtless 
and indifferent, and found it easier to follow the lead of 
others, than to contend with them and try to check their 
tyranny. 

One day, Elza, gathering acorn cups under the oaks, by 
the roadside, found a nicely mottled side comb, striped and 
clouded with red, black, and yellow, not undamaged, but 
still very good, and quite beautiful ; and boughten playthings 
of every kind were so scarce and dear in the backwoods, 
that the other youngsters, too, all gathered round to look and 
admire, and Elza marched around with it in her hand, proud 
and glad to show it. But no sooner did one of those teas- 
ing creatures see it, than she authoritatively forbade her 
amusing herself with it, and bade her put it away. Elza 
tried to beg off and compromise in this way, by saying, 
“ No, no, she must comb her hair first.” “ You can’t comb 
it,” retorted Jane. “Young ones can’t use combs worth a 
cent ; they jest get their hair into witch knots. Give it here, 
and I’ll sleek it up myself.” Elza unwillingly submitted, and 
after the “sleeking up ” was finished, Jane placed the comb 
in the back part of the owner’s hair, with strict injunctions 
not to move or touch it, — a dictum Elza did not feel bound to 
heed, and broke at the first oppoHunity. 

As soon as the mighty Miss of twelve discovered the mis- 
demeanor, she ran scowling up, and snatching it away, 


204 


HOSE AND ELZA. 


again replaced it, with still more peremptory orders to 
“ leave it alone.” 

‘‘Why, Jane,” remonstrated the child, “it’s mine, and I 
want to have it and play with it.” 

“No, you mustn’t play with it, ’tisn’t a plaything ; and 
it’s most Books now, too,” she answered. 

“Well, then, I won’t play with it ; I’ll just hold it in my 
hand real still, ’deed I will, Jane.” 

“ No, you won’t hold it in your hand at all ; that’s no place 
for a comb ; keep it where it is, I say.” 

“ Oh, Jane,” pleaded the httle one, “you know I found it ; 
and I don’t want it away on my head all the time ; I want 
it down to see ; do let me see it some.” 

“What a little fool you are,” cried Jane, waxing im- 
patient. “ You have seen it over and over, and there’s no 
more C’s on it. Better hush up, or I’ll put it in my own 
head.” 

Twenty times during that interminable afternoon, the 
little hand, fairly aching to hold the late found, bright-hued 
treasure, would steal slowly and timidly upward to grasp it ; 
two or three times actually secm^ed it, but only for the 
briefest season, for directly the sharp-eyed keeper would 
discover the harmless theft, and snatch the bliss away. Bat 
it was on her homeward road that Elza had most to dread 
from this wild Ishmaelitish clan. Then, there was no one 
else to share with her ; and she received the full benefit of 
their exuberant spirit and endless pranks. Their lawless 
tongues vexed and annoyed her much with their ill- 
flavored stories, and rude songs and jests ; but their hands 
were not idle either. Sometimes they would seize her pre- 
cious books, and run ever so far away ; another time it 
would be her shawl or bonnet that was carried off ; but 
oftener, it would be her basket that was clutched from her, 
and flung from one to another as a ball. But whatever else 
was done with it, they almost invariably ended with tossing 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


205 


it into the top of some bush, or the lower Hmbs of a tree ; 
and then the cry would be, ‘^Now let’s run, and let the 
buggers catch Elz.” And with whoop and halloo, away 
they would scamper home, leaving their luckless mate Avith 
most of the lonesome, woodsy road stiU before her, and 
their mischief to undo before she could start on it. Left to 
her own resources, the little maid would gather sticks and 
stones, and throw, if haply she might strike, and bring 
down her property ; and these failing, she would run here 
and there seeking a pole long and hght enough for her to 
raise and dislodge it. 

All this was a business of time ; and as school Avas held 
more hours then than now, it was often late before she 
reached the wood ; which, gloomy at noonday, looked wild 
and eerie in the fading daylight ; causing her to fly through 
its dim, bosky alleys, trembling with fear, and starting at 
every sight and sound. Very probably those thoughtless 
children had no Avorse motive than amusement, and show- 
ing their authority ; and as they never really injured either 
her person or property, thought themselves innocent. But 
whatever they thought among them, they contrived to steal 
very nearly all the sunshine out of Elza’s school-life, — chang- 
ing those sweet, summer-evening walks to dreaded ordeals ; 
and in one way and another causing the nervous, delicate 
child not only a loss of much pleasure, but much real suf- 
fering. In the mornings she could, and did, avoid them ; 
but returning, there was no escape. They would be Avith 
her ; would tease, provoke, and hinder, though night was 
coming, and the long, dark forest all yet to pass. Sometimes 
they Avere more perverse and mischievous than at others ; 
but if there was ever a single evening that they were really 
peaceable and kind, there is no tradition of it. When her 
j)arents became aware of the facts, they insisted on com- 
plaining to the teacher ; but in that school, so great was the 
odium attached to the name of an informer, that the child 


206 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


begged them to forbear ; choosing to suffer the ills she 
knew, rather than to brave the withering contempt and 
positive ill-usage that awaited a tattler, or as they termed 
it, a tell-tale.” All things considered, it is no marvel that 
the poor unfortunate had few treasured memories of this 
period ; but generally considered her school-days as evil as 
they were few. 

This second session closed (in the old log academy), on 
the last day of July, 17 — and though Elza still lacked 
three months of counting her seven times one is seven,” 
she never entered it again as a scholar. Sometimes there 
was no school at all ; or when there was, it was in the win- 
ter, when the weather forbade so small a girl going so far. 
But this suited Fred well, for being six and a half years 
older than Elza, he could not be spared in summer, and 
cared little how great the cold, or deep the snow, so there 
were plenty of play and playmates. However, he studied 
well, too, and won the first prize, — in fact, the only prize 
offered. For while punishments were very common then, 
rewards were almost unknown. At that period, the good, 
wise custom of reading the Bible,* and studying its doc- 
trines an hour or two each day, prevailed in many or most 
schools ; and this particular teacher being “ truer blue ” 
than ordinary, even offered a nice prize for proficiency in 
the Westminster Catechism. The children generally needed 
considerable prompting in all their lessons ; and Fred had 
little fear of any competitor here, except in Avis MoUe}-, a 
tall, strong, sharp-witted girl near his own age. 

This shrewd, blue-eyed damsel had formed views of her 
own concerning the reward ; and was not a little aggrieved 
and chagrined at the success of her rival. And the teacher 
kindly considering that she also had studied and recited 
well, good-humoredly promised that she, too, should have 

* Though, as stated, some of the early schools were very inferior 
in many ways, yet this was to their honor. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


207 


a present ; and the following Monday brought her a pair 
of sleeve-buttons with glittering, green-glass sets. This 
unusual generosity somewhat soothed her ; but her piide 
was wounded still at being counted only second ; and laugh- 
ing over this childish trial sixty years after, she remarked, 
“ The buttons were very pretty,^ and fashionable too ; but for 
all that, I had a spite at Fred for a month.” 

But to return to Elza. Though no longer at school, she 
studied some, and read with avidity all that fell in her 
way ; and not heeding her old master’s rebuffs, still kept 
an eye to the fine-arts. She and Bose had both learned 
something of embroidery, and Bessie had permitted them 
to exercise their childish skill on their brown linen short- 
gowns and pinafores. This was all well enough in its way ; 
but when older, Elza yearned for something nobler than 
this. In her reading she saw many references to tapestry ; 
even whole histories, portrayed in ‘‘needlework sublime,” 
and she early conceived the idea of a grand picture of this 
kind by herself. 

Bowland, when at home, had occasionally amused a 
leisure hour in translating an ode, or other short piece, from 
the ancient poets into English verse. And Fred, unable to 
join in this pleasure, sometimes enjoyed a similar one, in 
trying how well he could imitate the spirit and diction of 
some old English poet, but oftener wrote his songs, ballads, 
and burlesques in his own way, and altogether had a drawer 
full. One day, while Elza was thinking of her coming work, 
she suddenly bethought herself of Fred, and his many 
rhapsodies. Siu’ely, among aU those odds and ends, some- 
thing might be found to serve as a motto for her piece, 
and then his name, too, might go down to posterity ; and 
this happy thought she determined to act on. Pretty soon 
after this she obtained a few skeins of silk of suitable colors, 
and other materials ; and the first leisure afternoon put on 
her sun-bonnet, and went out as for a common stroll. On 


208 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


reaching her favorite nook, she sat down on a mossy rock 
among the pines ; and at once began her attempt to trans- 
fer the scene to canvas. 

But what had seemed so easy in imagination, in execu- 
tion was difficult enough. She went again, and again, 
adding new features to the, original plan, till nothing more 
seeming necessary, she stopped, and called it finished ; but 
it was hardly satisfactory. The sky was clear, but some- 
how had a rather singular appearance. The trees were a 
most vivid green, but stood as stiff and straight as so many 
pokers ; and the babbling brook wouldn’t babble, but lay 
as still as a stone between its emerald banks. In short, it 
was not a great success. Still it was a bright, clean, nice, 
smooth, prim little thing, — very well for an untaught young 
Miss, and the mottoes answered nicely also, many pronounc- 
ing the literary paii: in advance of the artistic. A double 
circle surrounded the whole, worked in gTeen silk, and 
between these lines the poetry ran, thus : 

“ To shadowy groves and lowly plains ; 

To silent glades and murmuring streams, 

O pensive muse, repair,” etc. 

— George Frederick Traulie, 

June, 17 — . 

And in two oblong spaces (also stitched in green) beyond 
the circle, these quaint lines, reiterating the same sad mean- 
ing over and over, were written : 

When life has like a phantom fled. 

And I am numbered with the dead ; 

When iron slumber binds this frame. 

Here, you may read my empty name. ” 

— Elza R. Traulie, 

June 10th, 1799.* 

* Both scraps were written by Fred ; the latter being brought out 
in this way : One of his backw'oods chums, calling one day, became 
so interested in the former’s dictionary, that he asked leave to carry 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


209 


CHAPTEE XXX, 

** We linger while we turn away, we cling while we depart, 

And memories unmarked till now come crowding o’er the heart. 

Oh ! what a moment, when we stand with farewell words and staff 
in hand 

Upon the sill, the old home sill, the gray- worn sill. 

That lies beneath the door.” 

A YEAR or so after his marriage John Elmer left the 

U neighborhood for one a few miles beyond F 

where he remained two years. But, still being dissatisfied, 
he resolved to change again, and this time to the far West. 
Several of the relatives demurred at the idea of this under- 
taking, seriously doubting its wisdom ; but the strongest 
opposition came from the elders, especially from his w'ife’s 
parents. Pioneers themselves, they knew what such a step 
involved of trouble, hardship, heart-sickness. They knew 
all the cost by sad experience, and deprecated the same 
trials for their child ; the same or greater ; for the new 
country was unhealthy as weU as wild, and the journey 
thither by flat-boat so tedious and full of peril. But the 
thing was determined on, and after the sale, Eose left her 
own dreary, dismantled house to spend the last few days 
mth her parents. She came to climb once more the moun- 


it home. Whether he purposed reading it through to the family, or 
only displaying it to them as a curiosity, is unknown ; hut he kept it 
some time, and when it was returned, a verse of poetry graced the 
fly-leaf, and beneath appeared the friend^s and author’s name — Clark 
Woodmancy, 1790. 

Though the sentiment was good, the rhymes were rather stiff and 
lame ; and no sooner had Fred read them, than with his usual con- 
ceit, he fancied he could improve them : and taking the same thought 
(and words too, mostly), he wove them into the stanza above, and 
traced it, and his name too, near Clark’s. 


210 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


tain heights, sit beneath its pines, and view the landscape 
o’er. To listen once again to the busy mill, drink once 
more from her own sweet spring, wander and weep by the 
Redstone, and then to bid to each, to all, a long farewell. 
Grieving with her and for her, Paul and Bessie could not 
but feel injured and disappointed. They had broken up 
all the ties that bound them to their Eastern home, and 
journeyed to the wilds of Pennsylvania, not for their own 
sakes, but for their children’s, knowing that here all could 
obtain a competency ; and had trusted that by thus sacri- 
ficing their own feehngs they would be enabled to see all 
their loved ones settled near and permanently around them. 
But though fertile farms, weU-watered and well-timbered, 
were still moderately low, and the whole country was healthy 
and beautiful ; yet its charms were powerless to hold many 
of the young ; and already their own band was breaking 
up and scattering abroad. Rowland’s distant home and 
Rose’s extremely early marriage had given them many a 
pang ; but the father being reserved by nature, and the 
mother often equally so from principle, httle had ever been 
said. But this new trial revived those that were past ; and 
all combined, caused them to feel (as many another has) 
that the parents’ reward was often meagre indeed. After 
spending so many weary, anxious days and sleepless nights 
for their child ; after years on years of teaching, guiding, 
reproving, encouraging, restraining; after such unmeas- 
ured love and care, then comes some gay stranger, and 
with a few soft words, a few vows and smiles, the young 
heart is won. The endless favors, the kind protection, 
the watchful, ceaseless; tender care, fade and sink into 
insignificance in the light of this new-found joy. The 
changeless friends of a lifetime are nothing to this friend 
of a day. Where he goeth she will go ; where he dieth she 
will die, and there will she be buried. Their loss is his 
gaim 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


211 


“ They sow the seed with toil and pain, 

But another the harvest reaps.” 

And such life is, and must ever be. But happily, not 
many feel its trials so bitter as did this pair, especially 
the mother, whom both joy and grief affected so deeply. 
Ofttimes through the passing years had they watched by 
dying-beds, and stood by open graves. Time and again 
from their own embraces one and another had been taken ; 
those in their smiling infancy, these in their youthful bloom. 
But scarcely were the tears shed for the dead, so many or 
so sad, as those wept for the living. For those who were 
‘ not ’ they had mourned, but dared not repine. God had 
but recalled His own, and they had striven meekly to resign 
them in faith and hope — their spirits to His bosom, their 
bodies to the lasting rest — ^both alike forever secure ; safe 
in the arms of Jesus, safe in the sheltering tomb.” Yes, 
with the dead it was well, but for the living and the absent 
there was many an anxious thought and fervent prayer. 
For Eowland, — surrounded by aU the snares and temptations 
of city hfe ; associated with proud, godless men ; flattered 
by careless, pleasure-seeking women living only for time ; 
and, worse than all, dwelling where French infidehty was 
slowly permeating society and poisoning the air with its 
noxious breath ; — for him they often feared and trembled. 
Amid aU these baleful influences, would he be enabled to 
maintain his integrity ? What would it profit if he attained 
the highest honors in the state, if he made shipwreck of the 
faith ; ah, what would it profit if he gained the whole world 
and lost his own soul ? 

Often thus their hearts had questioned and feared for 
their first-born son ; and now no less, though in a different 
way, they yearned over their absent daughter so early re- 
moved from their fostering care. Banished, so young and 
inexpeiienced, to the very verge of civilization ; there, 
without society, in some lonely Httle clearing, a stranger in 


212 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


a strange land ; to live enfeebled by malaria ; dreading In- 
dian incursions ; exposed to all tbe manifold and unavoid- 
able dangers and privations of frontier life. Gone, with all 
her strong local attachments, her warm, clinging, imperish- 
able affections ! Gone from their arms, and, haply forever ! 
Yes, often in such scenes as these might some prophetic 
voice have fitly proclaimed, “Weep not for the dead, but 
weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no 
more ; there shall he die, and shall see this land no more.’" 

Possibly some may smile at the desperate grief of these 
partings as over-wrought and absurd, but they must not 
judge the past by the present. Living in this age, when 
the ends of the earth are brought nigh together by the 
steam-king, and the lightning itself darts from the sky to 
bear love’s missives, they can have little conception of the 
well-nigh impassable barriers a few hundred miles inter- 
posed when travelling was so tedious and perilous,* and 
post-ofiices fifty or a hundred leagues apart. Persons set- 
ting out on such a journey almost expected it to be a re- 
turnless voyage, and parted with friends as those whom they 
would in all probability never meet again, nor even hear 
from but very seldom. 

No marvel, then, that to some, to the tender, timid women 
especially, the emigrant wagon often rolled away as drearily 
as a hearse, for well they knew that many a time the grave 
itself scarcely separated more absolutely such divided ones 
than did distance and time. And as for this sad father and 
mother, as their hearts boded, so it was. At long, weary 
intervals came loving messages from the absent ones, but 
they — never. Ah! well might these pai*tings be bitter, for 
never again did eye meet eye, or hand clasp hand. Through 
many a year they longed, and looked, and hoped in vain, for 
Pose and Kowland returned no more. 


* For some description of these perils, see Chap. XXXII. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


213 


CHAPTEE XXXI. 

What next — books, work, new plans, or friendly chat ? 

Yea, all — with music, art, and this and that. 

Though little, if any, past nineteen at the time of her de- 
parture, Eose was already the mother of two children, the 
eldest being a trifle over two years old. This active, mis- 
chievous sprite, all knew would require such ceaseless sur- 
veillance on a flat-boat, to preserve her from the river and . 
other dangers, and would add so much to the young moth- 
er’s care and fatigue, that it was thought best by all that 
she should be left behind, to await some better, safer op- 
portunity. 

“ Some other family among the neighbors might perhaps 
follow them before long, who, having no small children of 
their own, would take charge of Bess, and bring her safely,” 
they said ; “ or some way would be found.” 

This new bereavement could not but add increased poign- 
ancy to Eose’s trial ; but recognizing the wisdom and kind- * 
ness of the plan, she silently submitted. So little Bess was 
left in the paternal mansion to take the old-time play haunts 
and fill as best she could the place forever left vacant by 
her mother. 

Some one has said, “ A babe is a perennial well-spring of 
joy in a house,” and though the T.’s scarcely accep)ted so 
“ poetical a view ” of babyhood, still they grew very fond 
of the child, and her pretty prattle and endless mischief 
served somewhat to divert their sorrow. Then there w'ere 
their constantly recurring duties claiming attention, and 
breaking in on their hours of sad brooding with wholesome 
importunity. And if cares are comforts,” they surely had 
many consolations, for the work and care of that age seemed 
endless, indeed, as mentioned in a former chapter. 


214 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Everything being done by hand, there was not a great deal 
of idle time, and the T/s were as busy as their neighbors. 
Bessie and Elza, besides the usual housekeeping work and 
attending the garden and dairy, manufactured during the 
summer forty pounds of wool — picking, carding, doing every- 
thing from the time the fleece was sheared from the sheep 
till the finished cloth was cut from the loom. And then 
during the winter the flax was worked up till a forty-yard 
web of linen was ready for the spring bleaching ; when, ac- 
cording to the old song, 

March winds and April sun 
Make linen white, and maidens dun.” 

Then there was much fruit to be gathered and prepared 
for winter, especially wild fruits and peaches. 

Paul T. delighted in orchards, and, like many others, had 
early planted hundreds of peach and apple trees, also add- 
ing several varieties of cherry and plum. But none of them 
were producing much as yet, except the first mentioned. 
These were so abundant as to frequently break the trees, 
and they added not a little to the autumn’s work. 

Drying and preserving were the only modes then in vogue 
for keeping fruit; and Mrs. T. and Elza worked diligently 
a,t it, — some seasons, besides their huge jars of sweetmeats, 
having twelve bushels of dried peaches in their store-room. 
A part of these they managed with some difficulty to dis- 
pose of in town, but the green fruit would not sell at any 
price. As a last resort, Paul called up his whole herd of 
swine, and turned them among the trees ; but the fat, lazy 
IDorkers, soon sated, grew as dainty as the town epicures; 
and hoggishly snuffling and snouting over the mellow, lus- 
cious heaps, saucily refused to taste any but the very 
freshest. 

The work of various kinds often went on continuously 
from “ early morn till dewy eve,” and in busy seasons till 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


215 


eight or nine o’clock at night. Occasionally help was hired, 
but oftener all was performed by mother and daughter. 
However, few if any did all their own sewing then. A reg- 
ular seamstress made the Sunday gowns, and a tailor was 
hired in the house to cut and make the men’s clothes; and 
some of these needle-folks and other transient help, had 
oddish notions and ways of their own. One day, when ex- 
pecting one of these functionaries, Bessie was startled by 
seeing an apparition in flaming scarlet, and bearing some 
weapon in each hand, emerging from the pines. 

Her first thought was of the British red-coats, so familiar 
to her eye in Jersey ; but on a nearer view, saw that this 
imposing personage, instead of sword and gun, bore peace- 
ful goose and press-board. It was no fiery son of Mars, 
but only Jones, the new tailor, coming to make up the gray 
cloth. During his stay, finding him easy and communica- 
tive, his hostess ventured to refer to the extraordinary hue 
of his dress, and he replied, good-humoredly : 

“ Why, madam, I wear red just because I think it’s the 
prettiest color in the world.”* 

And, with an admiring glance at his unique toilet, he 
went on with his stitching. 

The sober Scotch lad that for a time assisted on the farm 
did not have such strange taste in dress as he had in eating. 
He had his doubts about Yankee cookery, and a frank way 
of expressing them. As one day, finding Fred dressing a 
pair or two of black squirrels for dinner, he remarked, 
anxiously : 

‘‘ Oh, maister Fred, them black cats turn my stamach. I 
dinna ken whither I can tech a bit o’ them or na.” 

Another time, as Bessie was cutting up a whortleberry 
pie for dessert, Sandy watched her uneasily; while the rich 

* Nor was J. alone in his fancy for red cloth. Once when Mrs. Z. 
asked Z. to buy the baby a frock, that obliging soul came home with 
a package of scarlet broadcloth worth $7.00 per yard. 


216 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


crimson juice spread over the white plates, and when she 
offered to serve him, edged away with ill-concealed disgust, 
saying : 

‘‘ Mistress T., I na think I can taste the bluidy thing.” 

A dish of nice, sweet, roasting ears he thought “ good 
enough for the pigs,” and so on. 

Many would have been angry at the free-spoken Gael, 
but he said everjdjhing so naively, and was withal so good 
and faithful, that his employers were more amused than of- 
fended. Everything he understood was well done ; but he 
found much American work as strange as the fare ; and in 
cutting timber he needed constant watching, as he knew no 
more than a child which way the tree would fall, or where 
to place himself to escape being crushed. 

Another expert among the woodsmen of the day, was 
Barnaby Clint, who, with the old hunter, his father, once ac- 
companied a chestnuting expedition hereabouts. On a halt 
being called, young Clint volunteered for his part to climb 
the trees, and cut off the fullest branches, shake the burs, 
etc. No one objecting, up he went, and soon 

“ Made the tree quiver from rootlet to crown.” 

And having shook the ripest of the nuts, and thrown down 
many small limbs, the rest gathered them up, and com- 
menced hulling ; and he began chopping vigorously on a 
large limb, selecting (far-seeing youth that he was) the very 
one on which he was standing. 'Presently, “ when the bough 
broke,” not only the chestnuts did fall, but “ down came ” 
Barnaby, hatchet, “and aU.” And creeping out sheepishly 
enough from among the debris of yeUow leaves, burs, and 
boughs, he reported himself “ all right.” 

Fred and aU the boys greeted this most masterly exploit 
with a perfect storm of cheers, jests, and laughter ; and 
their elders joined in with hearty zest. Old Barnaby 
laughed too, but provoked at the ridiculous awkwardness of 
the thing that had made his son the butt of the boys for a 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


217 


‘‘coon’s age”; he growled out: “Oh, Ban, you great 
pumpkin-head. Whoever seed sich a greenhorn, to hack 
off his own foothold, and cum tumblin’ down like a bear. 
Mought ha’ knocked yer brains out, I reckon, if you’d a had 
any to knock.” 

To which poor Greeny retorted with some spirit: 

“ Now, dad, you can scold, and the rest can haw-haw about 
that pesky limb, and say I hadn’t orter to have chopped it. 
Nation smart, all of ye, now, arter it’s dun. But if any of 
youins had b’en up fust, afore ye seed me do it, I guess ye 
wouldn’t a bin any perter yerselves, nor tho’t on’t a bit 
more’n I did.” 

When work ceased in the T. mansion for the day or the 
evening, Elza would at once seize her darling books and soon 
forget everything but them, though mamma generally pro- 
hibited the candle aften ten, hoping thus to tempt or drive 
her fledgelings to their nests. But as she did not command 
it, the brother and sister often sat reading long by firelight, 
Elza not unfrequently till twelve or one o’clock. This was 
wrong, but her thirst for knowledge and small leisure were 
some excuse. Still it must be confessed it was not always 
science or solid history that “ consumed the midnight ” fires, 
but something Hghter : fables, poetry, or fiction. And one 
of this latter class she once unexpectedly changed for a very 
different treatise. Miss P.* was an acquaintance that Elza 
had first been interested in by hearing she had been named 
for one of Shakespeare’s heroines, and afterward because 
they had many tastes in common. Thus they gradually be* 
came intimate, and from talking of books, naturally began 
exchanging them with each other. 

On one of Juliet’s visits Elza brought out a new work she 


* The P.’s possessed a fine library for that age, including consider- 
able solid and elegant literature and some burlesque. Here Elza first 
saw ‘ ‘ Hudibras ” and some other books. 

10 


218 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


had lately received : a tale commencing with a scene in a 
wild, barren country, along a wave-washed shore. On the 
summit of a lofty hill, three leagues from the sea, stood a 
Gothic castle, long since deserted, covered with ivy, and 
crumbling with time.” Both girls thought it opened very 
grandly; and after reviewing it a little more, Juliet carried 
it home with her. Some time after, when Elza went to re- 
turn the visit, they enjoyed new pleasure in talking the 
story over together, and when the guest was about leav- 
ing, Juhet ran up-stairs to fetch it, but returned without it, 
looking not a little annoyed. Cato had been amusing his 
pupship by reviewing “new publications” himself, and so 
severely, that the “ crumbling castle ” was now completely 
demolished ; the brave knights unliorsed ; the lords and la- 
dies butchered. In short, the pictures were so mutilated, 
and so many tine passages destroyed, that Juliet begged the 
owner to “ leave it and accept one of her books instead.” 
But here Mrs. P. interposed, saying that “with Miss T.’s 
permission, she would find one in her own collection,” and 
going out, she soon returned with a nice-looking volume, of 
much the same appearance as that of the injured one; and 
presenting it to the waiting visitor, asked “if it would suit 
her?” 

Elza gave a little start as she opened it, and saw such 
headings of chapters as “Conviction,” “ Bepentance,” “ Faith,” 
“Peace of Conscience,” “A Future Judgment,” etc. It was 
a solemn theological work, by a sound old Calvinist ; surely, 
anything but light literature ; yet after a glance or two here 
and there, she bowed her acceptance, and toq^k her depart- 
ure. Whether mamma P. thought the young ladies were 
indulging in too weak and sweet a pabulum, and it was high 
time they had stronger meat, or whether simply because 
this book happened to be nearest the other in price and size, 
she chose it, is unknown. But at aU events it was chosen, 
and Paul and Bessie were delighted with the change, and 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


219 


Considered that Cato had done more of a favor in the busi- 
ness than of a wrong. And though Elza never saw her 
beautiful “ romance ” again, she, too, was content ; read these 
sober pages with serious attention, and through life kept 
and prized her ‘‘ Knox’s Essays.” 

Some time before this another event had taken place that 
was highly interesting to those concerned. The new house 
so long desired had been erected. Paul, cautious and far- 
seeing, had delayed building till he could do so without debt 
or anxiety. Had laid his plans wisely, prepared abundance 
of materials of the best quality, engaged his workmen, and 
partly paid them in advance. Had everything ready and 
waiting to make good and speedy work ; but owing to the 
unfair dealing of the contractor,* it was not entirely finished 
for two years. If not the first, this was one of the first 
houses of any pretensions in the neighborhood, and was 
considered an elegant and spacious mansion by all. But no 
sooner had they fairly taken possession of it, than a slight 
contention arose between mother and daughter as to fur- 
nishing; the one insisting that they needed much new fur- 
niture, and the other asserting that they needed little or 
none. 

‘‘ Why, mamma,” continued Elza, ‘‘ do tell me what we 
have to furnish these nice, new rooms ? ” 

“What have we, do you ask?” replied Bessie. “Well, 
here are the tall cupboard and the great chest of drawers, 
and Howland’s small one, the square dinner-table and the 
round work-table of solid walnut ; several good beds, the 
chairs, and” 

“ Yes, yes, mamma ; I know they suited our log-house 
very well, and will do well for the kitchen and bed-chambers 


* The first man who built a house over one story tall, here in Fay- 
ette, immortalized himself, it being dubbed the “High House” ever 
after. 


220 


ROBE AND ELZA. 


here; but we have nothing, positively nothing, fit for the 
front rooms.” 

Elza,” returned mamma, severely, you are too proud 
and discontented for any use ; you are very, very ungrate- 
ful. Just when your father has provided you a nicer^house 
than one girl in a thousand has, you want to go to teasing 
and worrying him for something more.” 

In earlier life Bessie had not been deficient in taste and 
regard for appearances; but long absence from the East, and 
lack of handsome surroundings, had made her somewhat in- 
different to them now. However, she continued presently; 

“ Your father has plenty of seasoned lumber, I know, and 
if you choose to ask to have some new furniture made, I 
suppose you can ; but I shall not trouble about it, nor tease 
him, and neither must you. But you can mention the sub- 
ject and see what he thinks best.” 

And with this not very cordial permission, Elza dropped 
the thing with mamma, and went to interview father. She 
found him tolerably indifferent too. 

“ Oh, yes,” he said, “ there was lumber enough, to be 
sure.” He would have a workman hired (as many did) to 
make it up at home, or else exchange it for ready-made 
furniture. But there was no hurry, he was busy now ; he 
would see about it by and by. But this goodish, slow plan 
did not suit the daughter at all. With the impatience of 
youth, and the natural ardor of her disposition, she felt as 
though she could not endure to wait, and next proposed 
that she herself should furnish the front east room as soon 
as possible.” Her parents laughed at her childish eagerness, 
and Ered stood carelessly neutral; but no one saying “nay,” 
she carried her project through, and it was ever after called 
“ Elza’s room.” This, then, became her sanctum, her haven 
of rest. Hither she came, when sad and weary, for solace 
and repose ; here retired in her hours of leisure to her 
books, her needle-work, or her pen ; here built many a 


ROSE AND EL2L\. 


221 


grand air-castle for tlie years to be, and ^‘dreamed the 
dreams that come at seventeen summers.” 

One calm, still afternoon of an autumn day, sitting in this 
quiet retreat, writing on the broad sill of her east window, 
she sg,w a horseman of genteel exterior cantering down the 
lane, whom she presently recognized as Mr. J., the post- 
master of B , and an intimate friend of Fred’s. “ The 

entertainment so long talked of in town and country,” he 
said, “ was now positively fixed for the following Wednes- 
day evening; hour, seven o’clock; place, the court-house. 
And he had ridden out purposely to apprise them of the 
time, and urge them not to fail in attendance”; which they 
promptly assured him there was “ no danger of their doing.” 
When the important time arrived, and the brother and sis- 
ter with it, they found quite a festive scene. The house 
was ah'eady lighted up, and packed from end to end ; the 
stage decorated with flags and festoons, music pealing from 
the gallery, and everybody gay, smiling, and expectant. At 
precisely seven o’clock the curtain rose to the “Miser’s 
Daughter.” And young lawyer S., wrinkled and bent, with 
unkempt locks, grizzled beard, and rusty, sordid dress, 
stepped forth as the old miser; while Dr. B., then a fair, 
slender, blue-eyed youth, disguised in a scant, thread-bare 
gown, and thin, tattered shawl, with pale, sad face, person- 
ated his unhappy daughter; expostulating with him in low, 
piteous tones, on his hardness and unkindness to herself, his 
cruelty to the poor, his cankered gold, and so on. After 
this piece, and several others, had ended in loud applause, 
this same dejected young lady appeared again, this time 
happily much improvrd both in dress and spirits; for she 
was now radiant in a robe of white mull, a blue-silk sash, 
and a wreath of roses in her hair; and assisted by a tall, 
stately cavalier, sang an ode to Washington, then fresh from 
the fields of his fame; and this, with a last tune from the 
band, closed the performance. 


222 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


This, the first exhibition of histrionic art ever attempted 
in B delighted the audience generally, and Elza especi- 

ally, who wrote a glowing description of it to Rowland, say- 
ing she had found a new charm in life; she would enjoy 
such entertainments very often, if she had his opportunities; 
perhaps might make a great actress herself ; and other girlish 
nonsense. 

Now, Rowland had long earnestly wished to place Elza 
in the city awhile; but mostly for the sake of its culture, 
and not to mingle in its exciting, dangerous pleasures, which 
he deprecated. So, when replying to this part of her letter, 
he reminded her that however pure and instructive the 
Miser and such pieces might have been, many others were 
widely different, and many actors, actresses, and others who 
habitually followed them, were persons of the worst possible 
character, disgracing and corrupting any society they en- 
tered. And considering the many and great evils (seemingly 
inseparable from the theatre), good men in all ages had felt 
constrained to condemn it as prejudicial both to religion 
and good morals. As a matter of fact and history, some 
knowledge of the origin and progress of the drama might 
be well; and some good selections from the masters of comedy 
and tragedy could be read with pleasure and profit at home ; * 
but whatever opportunities she might find, he hoped never 
to see a sister of his in a theatre.” So Elza’s dramatic pen- 
chant was nipped in the bud; but there were other enter- 
tainments that no one objected to; and she enjoyed none of 
them more, or oftener, perhaps, than the singing-school. 
Though instrumental music, except that of the viohn, fife, 
and drum, was seldom or never heard; yet vocal music was 
much cultivated; classes or schools for this purpose being 
held weekly during the winter at the different school-houses, 
besides many social singings in private ones. And as there 
were then no ‘‘patent notes,” or other means, by which to 
gain a smattering knowledge of the art, all who learned at 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


228 


all began at the first principles, and learned thoroughly; and 
thus, if only haK a dozen happened to meet, there was good 
music; for all parts were carried; all kept time, and sang 
correctly. For a long time Er. Merilton was teacher in 

U district, and 'Siah M. and Fred T. were his unfailing 

friends and assistants; while Naomia S., Linda J., and Elza 
T., were acknowledged leaders among the girls. One night 
when the circle met at D.’s, Elza there found a pleasant and 
unexpected addition to the company; for Mr. and Mrs. Bell, 

from the W g neighborhood, being on a visit to S.’s, 

had accompanied Naomia and Dick to the social. They 
were only lately from the east, and Elza found them intelli- 
gent, interesting people. Mr. B. was a stranger, but Mrs. 
B. she had met once before, and on this occasion happen- 
ing to be seated together most of the evening, they became 
quite intimate and confidential. The new friend had in her 
‘‘ singing-book ” several pieces of good music, copied by her- 
self on foolscap; and during recess she gave it to Elza to 
look over; and while thus engaged, the latter made a dis- 
covery that completely absorbed her attention for the rest 
of the evening. On the last page was a simple cluster of 
pinks and roses; some in bud, some full blown, two or three 
past theii* prime, and beginning to fade and droj) their 
petals, and all tied carelessly together with, a blade of grass. 
Elza’s eyes were riveted to the page. This wat^ like nothing 
she had ever seen. It was not done in chalk nor keel, as her 
baby efforts had been; nor yet in ink and pokeberries, like 
hers and Abby Cheeth’s at school; nor was it in the least 
like her later attempts in silk and crewel. Yes, ’twas some- 
thing like too, yet different, so different; such graceful out- 
line, such exquisite coloring, such delicate shading, so nat- 
ural, so lovely, so every way perfect. The girls found Elza 
no leader at all, and but a very poor assistant, for the rest 
of the evening; for once, she had no taste for tunes, no ear 
for harmony. All her interest was centred on one page, 
this first view of water-color drawing. 


224 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Mrs. Bell was pleased and surprised at this unexpected, 
unfeigned admiration of art, and of her own handiwork in 
particular ; and on leaving, gave the young girl a cordial 

invitation to visit W the next summer, examine all her 

work, and make as many inquiries about it as she chose. 
And Elza thanked her gratefully, and went home elated and 
smiling, to tell mamma of her obliging new friend, and 
speculate on the coming pleasure. But when, at last, winter 
wore away, with the pleasant spring weather came, as usual, 
the endless spring work. Really, there seemed to be no 

time to go to W ; but Elza was not to be foiled ; she 

would go, if it was but for a single day; and she did. Ris- 
ing one fair morning early, she got breakfast, milked five 
cows, and was dressed, mounted, and away before the stars 
had waned. The distance was some seven or eight miles; 
the road strange and woody; but after half a score of 
queries the place was really found, and also the artist, who, 
with gown tucked-up and sleeves above her elbows, was in 
the midst of the week’s wash. This was promptly set aside, 
of course, for it could wait for another day ; but there were 
many other things that could not be deferred. However, 
she welcomed her guest warmly, mentioned their former 
conversation, and, according to promise, brought her pori- 
foho for her inspection. And, giving a hasty explanation 
here, and a hint there, excused herself, and hurried back to 
her manifold duties, that occupied her several hours ; and 
Elza saw at a glance, and most clearly, that however free 
and easy her friend’s former life might have been, there was 
no more elegant leisure in the present part, than in her own. 
But after dinner was over and baby asleep, her hostess kindly 
laid all other business aside; and unlocking her desk, showed 
Elza her pallet, paints, brushes, and all the implements of her 
art, explaining the use of each; and to make it still clearer, 
drew a tiny spray of one or two leaves and fiowers, and col- 
ored them before her. She also wrote out a fuU list of all 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


225 


tlie articles, their price and where and how to obtain them. 
In short, did all that could . be done in the time to interest 
and initiate a novice. True, she also hinted something about 
“ difficulties in the way ; some spending many years, es- 
pecially on the higher branches, without attaining excellence 
or fame,” etc. And though Elza had read all this and much 
more, and now heard it personally from one who had seen 
fine pictures, and knew by experience something of their 
cost, yet she could not realize it. She recalled the 
proverb, ‘‘ Where there’s a will,” etc. If there were diffi- 
culties, surely they were not insurmountable ; but really to 
her the work looked not only easy but enchanting, and she 
rode homeward, thinking of nothing else but drawings and 
paintings, and longing to begin two or three at once. But th at 
was impracticable ; her purse was empty, and as her parents 
seldom if ever gave their children money — tliinking it taught 
them more self-reliance and economy to allow them the 
means of earning it themselves — she must curb her impa- 
tience and wait till her gains came in. In this way she had 
furnished her room, bought some of her books, added all 
the finer articles to her wardrobe, and she could also get 
her materials for painting without telling any of the family. 
That would be best; for then, if she got no sympathy, neither 
would she receive blame or ridicule. So going on with her 
work as usual, the six good silver dollars soon shone in her 
purse, and this being the sum required, was quietly forwarded 
to a merchant going to Philadelphia. He had promised to 
make the purchase, and on returning, handed her the pack- 
age in safety; and she, grasping it as eagerly as a miser his 
gold, bore it stealthily to her room, and locked it in her top 
bureau drawer. At the first possible leisure she flew fco her 
sanctum, and seizing her small magicians, bade them call 
forth, and make visible, one of the many pictures ever float- 
ing tlirough her brain. But they were powerless, almost as 
powerless to aid her taste and wdll as former and cruder 
10 * 


226 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


helps had been; and soon at the sound of footsteps she re- 
turned them to their hiding-place. The next evening, when 
all was quiet, she came again, and the next, and the next ; 
many times, many trials ; but all her efforts were unsatisfac- 
tory. Her flowers were rather neatly outlined, though a 
trifle too prim, but the coloring bore slight resemblance to 
Mrs. B.’s or to nature. Her human forms divine ” had not; 
much of either divinity or humanity to boast, their author 
thought, and quite disgusted, she flung these into the Are. 
Then she tried landscape, not sparing her paints ; but that 
was most abominable of all. She had made flowers that 
were praised, with nothing but ink and different colored 
berries, and some kind of landscape with only floss and silk; 
and now, when she had gone and got everything right to 
work with, why couldn’t the work look right ? 

Poor Elza, she had laid such a beautiful plan of keeping 
for a time her wondrous skill* a secret from all, but espe- 
cially from Rowland, who was to suspect nothing, till sur- 
prised by the reception of an elegant picture of her own 
designing. Now it seemed there was no skill to hide, no 
picture to send ; everything had gone and turned out per- 
verselj". And inwardly moved to execrate the whole thing, and 
almost crying with vexation, the sorely disappointed genius 
sat down, and instead of a handsome present, sent a dolor- 
ous eight-page letter to Rowland, giving the entire story 
from flrst to last. 

Mails were unceiiain and infrequent then, as we know; but 
as soon as possible, a long, kind answer came, full of love 
and sympathy, but not without a spice of kindly sarcasm, too, 
at the girlish ignorance and huge self-conceit betra^^ed in 
the affair. Reminding her that '^very few things were 
learned well, if at all, without a teacher, not even the com- 


* Comparatively speaking, “wondrous skill,” “nice picture,” con- 
sidering that she had done it alone. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


227 


monest, homeliest trades, much less, then, any of the fine 
arts, which required not only taste and talent, but good 
masters, good models, endless patience, and long practice. 
However, she might paint some day, perhaps. He was glad 
she desired more culture every way; he agreed with her 
fully. And finally he proposed she should for a season give 
over her many duties to hired help, and herself rest and 
study awhile ; for he, with their parents’ permission, intend- 
ed soon to find a good boarding-school, and bear all her ex- 
penses there for two years at least.” Elza was completely 
overjoyed at this generous offer-; and no one else made 
much objection, for Rowland Wl'ote also to the family on 
the subject; and as he was a lawyer by nature as well as by 
profession, he reasoned so clearly and persuaded so elo- 
quently, that when he ceased there was no more to be said. 

But now that the thing was settled, and near at hand, 
Elza began to feel a little frightened. She had never 
been twenty miles from home, and seldom, if ever, a week 
away from her friends. Perhaps she would be very lonely 

in B without one familiar face or voice. And some 

doubts about other matters that she had thought lightly of 
before, began to disturb her a little too, as. How would her 
frontier village dress and etiquette pass in a city ? Her 
eighteen-penny prints would probably do well enough for 
school; her new hat was pretty enough at home; her painted 
muslin gowns, and her three white ones, were very neat and 
becoming for countiy meetings ; but would they answer 
equally well in a city church? Her good gray habit was 

just the thing riding up the streets of B ; would it 

look the same in the streets of B n ? But it was too late 

to worry. There was no time for changing style or quality 
of wardrobe now ; and as to size, it was more than sufficient 
for their means of tran^q^ortation, as the entire jaunt was to 
be by horseback. 

And so the important period arrived ; good wishes were 


228 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


exchanged, adieus ended, and at the dawn of day on the 
morning of May 12, 18 — Elza, escorted by Fred, set forth 
on her journey. 

She had in one way and another secured and read most 
of the standard works of fiction ; and her young head being 
filled with their haunted castles, brigands, caves, lords, and 
ladies, and all their romantic nonsense, she felt like a heroine 
herself, and half expected to see or hear of some thrilling 
incident in the way, or meet with some strange characters ; 
but nothing unusual occurred. Not a single prince or 
princess crossed her way ; nor did she encounter one fierce 
bandit, or wandering knight ; but without any adventure 
worth mentioning, passed quietly along the regular route, 
reached her destination in safety, and was courteously 
received by the principal. 


CHAPTEK XXXn. 

“ Day of all the week the best, 

Emblem of eternal rest.” 

Tis done so soon, life's last page turned — 

Each — all — the angel’s eye hath met ; 

Written — is written — the scroll is closed, 

And for eternity the seal is set. to j. w. c. 

Perhaps tliis chapter belongs here exactly ; perhaps not ; 
but it does not matter, for as it is a world-wide custom to 
abuse the absent, this is a favorable time to tell tales on 
Elza while she is away, safe in school. 

As has been mentioned, Fred and his sister habitually 
filled them places in church, but at rare intervals were ab- 
sent. At one time they went to return the repeated visits 
of the O. family, and were surprised when Sunday morning 
came to find no one preparing for meeting. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


229 


“There was no preaching nearer than ten miles,” their 
host said, in apology. “ The horses are tired,” etc. 

It was a German settlement, and after breakfast the 
neighboring mynheers and their frows, sons and daughters, 
began gradually to drop in, in a social sort of way, till there 
was quite a paiiy. Some fine old hymns were sung, which 
was well, and a few read a little ; but the more x^art laughed 
and chatted merrily, and the family worked, for at noon a 
sumptuous repast was served to all. 

After dinner there was some napping among the elders, 
some little singing, but more laughing among the young 
folks for awhile, and then some one moved “ walking out.” 

It was a sultry, midsummer afternoon, with some appear- 
ance of rain ; but two or three couples rose and sauntered 
into the yard, and from the yard to the orchard on the hih. 

One or two of the youngest of the company had never 
seen a river ; and as two, the Cheat and the Monongahela, 
united within half a mile, they extended their walk to the 
forks. 

The strangers admired the scenery very much, and after' 
passing from one point to another for better views, till hot 
and weary, all entered the light skiff that lay moored be- 
neath the trees, and sat down. While resting here, some 
one proposed a short sail, to which one or two demurred ; 
but Will O., reaching out his hand, loosened the cable, and 
almost before all were aware, they were gliding over the 
smooth water, and leaving the safe shore behind. When 
once on their favorite element, some were in no haste to re- 
turn, and they drifted on and on. 

Meanwhile the threatening clouds seen when starting, 
had been lost sight of after entering the woods, and quite 
forgotten. But now, when loitering along the “ Old Vir- 
ginia shore,” a flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder, 
startled them from their security; and glancing westward, 
they saw the dark, ominous clouds looming ujy over the river 


230 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


hills, the sky gathering blackness, and fitful gusts beginning 
to sweep down the valley. 

Quickly heading the boat toward home, they made all 
speed; but before they were half there, the storm was on 
them with bellowing thunder, blinding lightning, and a 
tempest of wind and rain that beat them back continually. 
None of the party were very experienced oarsmen ; but 
they rowed for their live.s, for dangers were thickening. 
The wind was increasing ; swoUen streams bearing* rails, 
logs, limbs, were dashing down to swell ^‘the brimming 
river” that was momentarily rising higher and flowing 
faster. 

The frail skiff, drifting down the mad current, rocked, 
tossed, weU-nigh careened ; but at last it touched land, and 
with thankful joy they looked back on the seething water 
that had so nearly been their graves. 

After landing, there was a considerable lull in the storm, 
and they thought best not to stop on the way, but reach 
home if possible while it lasted. 

About a furlong distant from the harbor, was a house, 
and just beyond it a huge sycamore stood in the middle of 
the road. And on reaching this place, the neighbor stand- 
ing in his door, called to them to “ come in and stop with 
him.” But they refused, and w^ere just hurrying by the 
gate, when one turned about, paused suddenly, and, raising 
the latch, entered, all the rest following. And scarcely had 
they left the road before another fierce gale swept over, and, 
wrenching the giant tree from its place, dashed it to the 
ground a mighty ruin, filling the highway on every side. 

Not one of the company could give any reason as to why 
they changed their minds or their course ; but had they 
not done so, and at that moment, some, and probably most 
of them must have met as sudden and awful a death as they 
had just escaped. 

What effect this twofold deliverance had on th3 others, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


231 


is nnlniown; but Fred and Elza were very deeply impressed. 
And tbe latter especially was filled with admiring gratitude 
to her Heavenly Father for His mercy, and with grief and 
shame that she should ever have been found even once 
among the thoughtless, open violators of His law. From 
what unseen dangers He had shielded, she could not tell ; 
but did know that thrice in her short life He had snatched 
her from the jaws of death, and that twice such deliverance 
had been given on this one Sabbath day ; and she resolved 
henceforth by His grace to honor all His commands more, 
setting a special guard over the fourth, which (influenced 
by others) she had that day so flagrantly broken. 

And first of all, she would ever more echew all unneces- 
sary common social Sunday-visiting herself, and discoun- 
tenance it in others ; for she could not but see, that, as com- 
monly practiced, it brought no blessing to visitor or visited, 
but on the contrary, often led (as in the present case) into 
danger, and open sin, and was, in short, wrong in principle. 
For what else was it but robbing God, by taking His time 
to use for social duties, to save spending one’s own, though 
He had already kindly given man six days for his own work 
and pleasures, and had reserved but one specially to Him- 
self. This habit seemed insulting to Him, mean, unjust, 
unkind, as she looked at it now ; nor did she forget it, for 
her conscience was tl^roughly roused. 

After returning home, while considering what kind, and 
how many rules she should make on this point for the 
future, — she happily bethought herself of those already 
made, and lying ready on her table. Nothing could possi- 
bly be better than the command itself, ‘‘Kemember the 
Sabbath day to keep it holy,” etc. And what could be 
plainer and stricter than the inimitable Westminster notes 
on it, — as ‘‘ The Sabbath is to be sanctified by a holy rest- 
ing all that day, even from such worldly employments and 
recreations as are lawful on other days ; and spending the 


232 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


whole time in the public and private exercises of God's 
worship, except so much as is to be taken up in the works 
of necessity and mercy." And the fourth commandment 
forbiddeth the omission or careless performance of the 
duties reqtdred, and the profaning the day by idleness, or 
doing that which is in itself sinful, or by unnecessary 
thoughts, words or works, about our worldly employments 
or recreations." * How very pertinent they were ; and she 
noticed more texts on the subject (now that she was inter- 
ested) than ever before, or rather saw them in a new light, 
such as, “ Ye shall keep my Sabbaths, and reverence my sanc- 
tuary. .... Yerily, my Sabbath ye shall keep, .... to 
observe through all your generations for a perpetual cove- 
nant. And the Lord said, .... How long refuse ye to 
keep my commandment and my law ? They have defiled 
my sanctuary in the same day, and profaned my Sabbaths. 

. ... It is holy unto you Whosoever doeth any 

work therein shall be cut off from amongst his people 

Every one that defileth it shall surely be put to death 

Blessed is he that doeth this, that keepeth my Sabbath from 

polluting it If thou turn away thy foot .... from 

doing thy pleasure on my holyday ; and caU the Sabbath a 
delight, the holy of the Lord honorable ; and shalt honor 
him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own 
pleasure, nor speaking thine own words : then shalt thou 
delight thyself in the Lord ; and I will cause thee to ride 
upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the 
heritage of Jacob thy father ; for the mouth of the Lord 
hath spoken it." These she marked specially, and some 
stronger passages stiU, such as Jer. xvii. 27 ; Ezek. xx. 21 
Num. XV. 30-36 ; with many others. 

But marking texts, and laying down rules for Sabbath 
living, was much easier than following them strictly. Like 
most other people, Elza found it particularly hard to govern 


Catechism Questions 58-63. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


233 


thought and speech, and keep them in proper Sabbatic 
channels ; very, very difficult to refrain entirely from 
“speaking her own words.” However, she conscientiously 
attempted it, and checked both worldly thoughts and con- 
versation much, by allowing herself httle or no idle time 
for them. She habitually attended public service (when 
there was any), and when there was none, or when it was 
over, she would quickly dispatch the few necessary home 
duties, and then at once sit down with her Bible and other 
Sunday books and study, and read sometimes silently, 
oftener (if desired) aloud to the parents. She sang a great 
many hymns too, alone, or with Fred when present ; or 
listened while he or father read a sermon. And sometimes 
she and all the family hstened admiringly, while mamma 
chanted one of David’s psalms after the old fashion learned 
of Granny Bobinson in childhood. And then there was lit- 
tle Bess getting rather too much indulged by the tender 
grandfolks ; she must be watched, taught, and trained in 
the way she should go. And thus, as a general thing, in 
sacred lore and sacred song ; in gleaning and teaching 
truths, new and old ; in musing on that already learned, 
and learning more, the hours passed by ; so wisely filled up 
with better things, that evil and foolish ones were measura- 
bly crowded out. 

Elza had long known, and often been impressed with 
religious truth even from infancy ; but after this sad day of 
ojDen sin, and double deliverance, was more habitually watch- 
ful and serious than before. She had a great dread of 
gTieving the Spirit, and being left to hardness of heart ; and 
hoping thus to ward off worldliness, and keep the danger 
of delay, and the uncertainty of life, ever before her mind, 
she began to take special note of striking providences and 
sudden deaths, especially if among the young and thought- 
less. Some of these incidents are still on record, and may 
enter here, as : 


234 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


On a fair summer’s morning, in a pleasant, low-ceiled 
chamber, an invalid turned wearily on her pillow to watch 
the brightening east ; knowing that haply for her, the sun 
might rise no more ; while her daughter Amy, a blooming, 
buoyant girl, midway in her teens, tripped lightly back and 
forth ministering to her wants, tidying the rooms, and bear- 
ing all the household cares. But before ten o’clock, the 
strong, active girl was herself stricken down with some dire, 
unknown disease, and rapidly grew worse. But the former 
patient improved, and the setting sun looking through the 
same low casement, saw both at rest, — the mother, wrapped 
in health-giving sleep, resting on her bed ; the daughter 
locked in dreamless slumber, resting on her bier. 

And there was Morris B., whom Elza knew so well. 
When the great spinning-bee was to be at Ruth K.’s, Mor- 
ris, though only in his teens, was invited ; and as it was his 
first invitation to a “ grown-up party,” he was much elated, 
and could scarcely wait the appointed time. “Yes, yes. 
Aunt Ruth,” he cried, “I wiU come, and I will dance at 
your bee. Whoever fails, I will be there.” The waiting 
time was not long, — only a few days ; “ but it was too long 
to trust, ’twas time enough to sicken and die.” .... The 
evening came, and from farm and hamlet, the guests began 
to arrive. But one was not there. One merry voice was 
missed. One young face had that day been changed, and 
hidden in darkness. 

“ Hidden away, — shrouded and hid, 

For aye beneath a coffin's lid, 

And for the school-boy fair and bright. 

He slumbered in undreaming night. 

Low in his grave, low in his grave." 

And there was young Gerald Hall, leaving home but for 
a day, smiling and looking back on her he loved best, to 
promise again and again, “ I will return to-morrow ” — who 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


235 


ere the appointed hour, was carried home to her — dead. 
And Philander Orme, meeting his young friends at the 
Mason bee ; parting with them in perfect health at eleven 
in the evening, and dying at sunrise. One night, full of 
lusty life,” in their midst, — the next, the same friends keep- 
ing the solemn watch around his clay. 

The death of these young acquaintances (the latter two 
called without a moment’s warning), affected Elza very 
much, as did also that of Harry H., a friend of Fred’s and 
Josiah’s : for though less sudden, this, too, was a striking 
instance of the uncertainty of youthful hopes. Though 
heir to a good estate, his parents (old Virginians) having 
money, land, and servants born in their house ; yet Harry 
was not entirely content with either his prospects, or with 
country life, but was looking restlessly forward to something 
different, or better. Glowing reports often reached him 
from the South, stating that persons who had gone from 
here there, were living in affluence, had grown wealthy and 
influential. The same opportunities awaited others ; enter- 
prising young men of means might soon double their money 
there, and possibly gain office, — marry a planter’s daughter, 
or all three. 

Young, enthusiastic, and anxious for change, Harry’s 
imagination was captivated by these accounts, and he re- 
solved to test their truth. Yes, he, too, would see something 
of the world, and make a fortune with the best; then travel 
further, or else return here to enjoy his untold riches at 
home. But when his resolution became known, every one 
almost, from his nearest kin to his merest acquaintance, rose 
as one to oppose and forbid it; for Harry was a general 
favorite, and the journey was so long, so tedious, so fraught 
with dangers.* 


* Says a late writer : “ A voyage by flat-boat from Pittsburgh to 
New Orleans then, was an enterprise of greater peril than a tour round 


236 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


But he could not be persuaded. A golden future seemed 
beckoning him forward, and he must away. At • length his 
friends, seeing that his purpose was fixed, ceased to impor- 
tune him, and with aching hearts began to assist in the 
preparations for the doubtful journey, and unknown years 
of absence. 

By previous agreement a comrade, Allen A., joined him 
in B and together they proceeded to Old Fort (Browns- 

ville), where the boat was lading. It was a J une morning 
when all was ready, and though friends wept, and passen- 
gers solemnly bade good-bye, the gay sailors laughed at 
both, and with jest, and cheers, and winding horn they sailed 
away. 

• With a careful, skilful pilot, and a brave, determined, 
experienced crew, this proved one of the more prosperous 
voyages ; bringing no great fights with Indians or outlaws ; 
no very disastrous trouble with the deep, mad river. Still 

the world is now ; but though full of danger, there was a charm and 
a romance about it befitting the grand scenery and rude times. Ninety 
days slowly, dreamily floating down the Ohio, the scenery constantly 
changing, but ever wild and beautiful, with the boatman’s horn wak- 
ing the echoes from the distant hills, was a thing never to be forgot- 
ten ; as see that brave old warrior-poet, Gen. O. Butler’s, song on it, 
commencing : 

‘ O, boatman, wind that horn again, 

For never did the listening air 
Upon its lambent bosom bear 
So wild, so soft, so. sweet a strain,’ etc. 

“But the pleasures and perils of flat-boating as experienced then 
have gone by, and the fine flavor of the poem is in a degree lost to a 
generation who know them only by tradition. 

“ It was full of adventures, any one of which might terminate ab- 
ruptly the voyage and lives of the sailors. A moment’s neglect of the 
steersman might wreck at once the unshapely craft and their hopes in 
an inhospitable wilderness hundreds of miles from home. There was 
danger everywhere, in the currents, eddies, whirlpools, snags, saw- 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


237 


there were troubles and dangers enough, and when ten or 
eleven weeks out, a new one appeared that even the bold, 
reckless boatmen feared — yellow fever, 

Harry H. was stricken, and all at once shrank fearfully 
from his vicinage — all but one, Allen A. This comrade and 
true friend, forgetting his own danger, or not heeding it, 
stood faithfully by him by night and by day; administered 
food and medicine, soothed his delirious w’^anderings, shel- 
tered him from damps and drafts, changed his position con- 
tinually, and often drew his pallet out beneath an awning 
where he might watch the land and sky, taste the fresh 
air, and look toward home. For all the dreary days, 
through aU the dismal phases of the hideous disease, he 
watched him like a brother ; but in vain. Just as the long 
journey was ending, and the fair haven almost in view, 
Harry died. 

It was over ; and scarcely were the pulses still, tiU at the 


yers, and bayous of the tortuous Father of Waters The cur- 

rent was constantly changing. It was easy to be deceived into an old 
channel from which there was no return. Bayous were often traps 
leading nowhere but to ruin. The banks of the Ohio swarmed with 
hostile Indians, the banks of the Mississippi with no less dangerous 
whites. Here outlaws, criminals, and reckless desperadoes formed 
organized bands of pirates, river sharks, and wreckers, always watch- 
ing for the unwary voyagers, so that a slight mishap generally ended 
in complete disaster. Sometimes passengers arrived safely at their 
destination, and boat-owners made large gains; sometimes little or 
nothing was realized, and after fighting for their lives, captain and 
sailors returned haggard, foot-sore, and penniless. And often, alas, 
neither boat or crew were ever heard Of more. Under these circum- 
stances a safe voyage, even when it had proved unprofitable, was a 
grand event, and the occasion of tumultuous joy.'' Yes, truly, a 
journey by fiat-boat then was uncertain and perilous to the last degree; 
and on such a craft Rose E., Rowland T., Harry H., and the mass of 
emigrants to the South and West embarked. No wonder their friends 
watched their departure with fear and trembling, and mourned them 
almost as dead. 


238 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


word of command, a detail chosen by lot approached the 
corpse. Quickly, and with bated breath, they wound it up 
in its bedding, bound it securely, and, attaching a heavy 
weight, were about to sink it in the deep, turbid waters, 
when Allen, rousing from his grief, interposed, and begged 
them to desist. Such obsequies as these for Harry H. he 
could hardly endure to witness himself ; but more he 
thought of others still nearer — father, mother, sisters— pray- 
ing for him they would never see ; watching, and longing, 
and waiting for tidings of Harry. How could he bear to 
send such a message as this — so brief — so cruel — Dead, 
and cast overboard.” 

Shrinking back even in anticipation from such a task, he 
hurried to the captain to entreat him to carry his dead 
friend on a little further, to their destination, and give him 
fitting sepulture. Let him enter the longed-for port, 
though all unknowing, pass through the fair Crescent City 
once, though but under the pall; or, if that seemed too 
much, would he not land, order a deep, deep grave, and, as 
far as possible, give him Christian burial there where they 
were ? 

But to both propositions the captain said nay. “The 
men would mutiny if ordered to carry the corpse to Orleans 
or handle it at all, unnecessarily. Sinking it would certainly 
be the best and safest plan, and it had better be done at 
once,” he said. 

The crew were ready and waiting to perform their duty; 
but Allen interposed again, begging them to forbear, and 
adding, “ that if none would venture to bury his friend, he 
would do it (if they permitted) ; would do it all himself, and 
ask no aid. And the rough boatmen, touched by such un- 
selfish devotion, consented, though reluctantly, and, run- 
ning the boat ashore, anchored where, for half a mile, the 
low, sandy beach stretched inland. 

Giving Allen some slight assistance in raising the body to 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


239 


bis shoulder, some strolled away among the trees, and 
others sat in the boat and watched him, while, to the best 
of his ability, he accomphshed his sad task. But, alas ! the 
morning’s hght disclosed love’s labor lost. The night had 
brought rain and storm. The swollen waters had reached 
the unsettled mound, the cruel waves were swiftly sweeping 
the sand away, and already the corpse was partially exposed. 
And Allen, in helpless grief, looked wistfully now at the 
deep rolling river, wishing, vainly wishing, that the dear 
form were indeed beneath it, sleeping, securely sleeping in 
its darkest caves, till earth and sea give up their dead. 

But regrets were useless. It was too late now. He could 
do nothing more ; the boat was moving. And thus alone, 
unburied, exposed to tropic sun, to unclean birds, and 
beasts of prey, thus they left him alone on that foreign 
shore. 

Poor Harry H., his ‘‘ South Sea dream ” had cost him 
dear. His false Eldorado had been taken all for nought ; 
promised much and given nothing. It had given not 
even a shroud or coffin ; nay, had denied him even a grave. 

Many other cases noticed by Elza must be passed over 
entirely, and even the one most thrilling, that impressed her 
most, can have but brief mention. 

The subject of this was a person of some influence in so- 
ciety, an heiress, and a belle, but also a lover of pleasure, an 
habitual Sabbath-breaker, almost a scoffer, whose short life 
of folly, and death of despair, were a loud warning against 
stifling convictions; a sad example of one ‘‘often reproved, 
called in vain, and destroyed without remedy.” This, with 
all its details, would form a strange, solemn story, not with- 
out a touch of the supernatural too; but reasons, circum- 
stances, prevent its insertion here. 

The marking of, and meditating on, these early deaths of 
the young and gay, these crushed hopes and joys, joined to 
other discipline to which the “fair penitent ’’ subjected her- 


240 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


self, were salutary, for her principles gradually grew too 
strong to yield to either enticement or ridicule. And when 
in after years she professed conversion, and became the 
mistress of a home, there was nothing more firmly settled 
there than the difference between common and holy time. 
For while she constantly aimed to have religion run through 
every week-day, governing all worldly employments and 
recreations, it was also a fixed rule that not only worldly 
business,* but worldly plans and pleasures should cease 
during the Sabbath, and (as far as possible) all talk and 
thought of them be put away, and changed for those befitting 
the sacred hours. 


CHAPTER XXXm. 

Wealth, station, learning, wit, are talents — talents lenty 
And time is precious, priceless and fleeting. 

Part with it as with money, sparing — pay no moment but for its 
worth.” 

But to return to B , where the young student has been 

growing accustomed to city ways, and has fairly begun her 
studies, and has at the same time made some acquaintance 
with the various characters forming the small world of Park 
Street Seminary. 

The higher powers here she found were Miss Gertrude 
Ellis Sydney and her father, Horace Holland Sydney, Gent. 
The latter, though, was rather the head of the house than of 


* One of her plans for preserving the sanctity of the Sabbath was 
this : If any of the family had an engagement for Monday morning, 
she would cheerfully rise at two or three o’clock, or at twelve if 
necessary, prepare breakfast, waken the sleepers, and get them to 
their destination in time, and yet without profaning an hour of the 
day she loved best. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


241 


the school, for in this he took but little interest. The Sydneys 
had been an old family in Yorkshire, England, but the pres- 
ent representative of it had indulged in so many extrava- 
gances and played so deeply that his debts of honor, or dis- 
honor, and other follies had completely wrecked his fortune ; 
and the age of sixty found him an exile and a pensioner on 
his daughter’s bounty. 

But though no longer wealthy and surrounded by tenants 
and retainers, he was still in appearance and manners the 
“ fine old English gentleman ” — ^hale, florid, portly, bewigged, 
bepowdered ; full of stately politeness to visitors, and patron- 
izing to young lady pupils ; but sufficiently imperious 
to servants, and occasionally equally so with his lady 
daughter. This last, though, usually happened when he had 
taken too much wine, or had a fit of the gout, when he often 
brought her to tears with his snubbing. Miss S. was a far 
better financier than her sire, and on the final dispersion of 
the family and bulk of the property at her mother’s death, 
had proposed that, as they two were left alone and in poverty, 
it would be better to emigrate where they could make the 
necessary change and retrenchment in their style of living 
easier than at home, and where by this means her portion 
of a few thousand pounds could be made to support them 
decently. Whether willing or not, he consented, and not 
long after reaching the New World, she sacrificed her pride 
still further by opening this school that had been in success- 
ful operation for several years. In person Miss Sydney 
was unlike the majority of her countrywomen, having a 
pale, white, care-worn face, and a figure so tall and so very 
thin as to involuntarily suggest a lath ; and though scarcely 
thirty-five, she looked nearer fifty. In manner and conversa- 
tion she was quick, sprightly, easy, and graceful, with more 
of the animation of the French woman than of the dignified 
reserve of the English one. She was easy of access and 
extremely afiable at times, but was somewhat subject to 
11 


242 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


moods and tempers, during which she was rather cross, 
and sarcastic. A church-woman, she honored the rector, 
heard him preach on Sundays, invited him to tea on half 
hohdays, and herself constantly read the daily lessons and 
prayers to the school. Some probably considered her an 
eminent Christian, others thought her more of a formahst ; 
but all acknowledged her an accomplished, efficient teacher, 
and with this they were content. But more of her anon. 

As to the pupils, they generally appeared as quiet, amia- 
ble, and ladylike ; and all received the new-comer with 
marked politeness. Some one has said: ‘‘Many of those 
fashionable institutions seem emulous of finishing all their 
work after one pattern ; and with this laudable aim they 
grind down, smooth off, brush away all sharp angles, dis- 
tinct personality and freshness, and polish and gild till their 
young ladies have as much sameness as so many peas in a 
pod or beads on a string.” Whether “ Park Street School ” 
was of this class or not, Elza found few salient points among 
her mates. They almost without exception belonged to 
wealthy famihes holding about the same position in society, 
and they dressed, talked, acted, etc., very much ahke. For, 
though sometimes hasty and rather informal herself, Miss 
Sydney repressed all eccentricities, and insisted on ceremo- 
ny and repose of manners among her pupils, and everything 
was done by rule. They daily walked two miles — no more, 
no less — and every step had to be taken so. They 
scarcely filed along more slowly and decorously to meals, or 
more silently and solemnly to prayers or to church than they 
did in these solemn walks to Granley Hills. The languid 
city girls did not much worry, but the lively mountain 
nymph could scarcely restrain her bounding feet. Probably 
her health might have suffered for lack of exercise ; but 
fortunately the garden wall was broad and high, and con- 
cealed by this, she often stirred her blood by running and 
skipping like a wild deer. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


243 


There seemed to be little scheming, envy, or mischief- 
making among the girls. Almost the only faults Elza ob- 
served were their slight appreciation of their privilege of 
improvement, and their careless use of time. Scarcely a 
tithe of them seemed to have any serious aim in life. Her 
room-mate, Miss Katy Dale (every one, from the oldest to 
the youngest, received her title), though an average student, 
showed far more enthusiasm over fashion plates and her 
own appearance than in the most interesting study. Her 
slender form and golden locks were her special pride, and 
she would stand before the glass an hour at a time, labor- 
ing with her stays and her curling-irons, and every few min- 
utes naively called on Elza for admiration, exclaiming, 
“ Look, Miss T., how neatly I am laced ! Did you ever see 
a more sylph-like figure ? See how well I have dressed my 
hair. Are not these curls too lovely ? Are not my new 
gowns elegant ? Did you notice my hat ? It is just from 
Paris. Do, please. Miss T., shut that stupid book, and take 
some proper interest in things.’’ 

Adah L. was another of the elder pupils, and one of the 
prettiest and wealthiest ones — ^the only daughter of Judge 
L., Chief -Justice of the State; but, though cradled among 
books, neither did she care to dim her bright eyes with too 
much study. On the contrary, though a sweet-tempered, 
obliging girl, of good capacity, she was one of the most 
easy, careless, idle ones in school, needing both urging and 
chiding from her teachers. 

Her seat was next to Elza’s, and one day, when the draw- 
ing lesson began, she took out a new pencil of such superior 
quality that none of the school had ever seen so fine a one ; 
and it was passed from hand to hand through tlie large 
class, every one admiring it, and wishing for one like it. 
But the very next lesson Adah asked Elza to lend her one, 
remarking, “ The fine one you were all so excited over is 
gone, used up.” 


944 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Certainly,” said Elza, passing it to her ; “ but you are 
jesting about yours. One of that length and quality would 
last for months.” 

“ Oh,” returned Adah, laughing, “ it is ceiiainly worn out, 
but perhaps I should not have said used, but abused. I will 
tell you about it. Yesterday, when there was no school, I 
sat aU the afternoon by the window, looking into the street, 
and, happening to pick up my pencil, I commenced pointing 
it, and having nothing else to do, I kept on cutting and 
cutting, till there was nothing left but a heap of dust in my 
white apron. The poor thing was all whittled away.” 

A man worth his millions, it is said, always formed his 
opinions of persons by their little acts — their use of the 
stray hours, minutes, and pennies. So that a poor boy, after 
being refused, was recalled and received a place, and event- 
ually a fortune, because he had seen him stoop as he went 
out and pick up a pin. With such judges, pretty, careless 
Adah, and some of her mates, would have found small favor. 
And to Elza, too, who never could find time enough for the 
half she wished to do, and who thought the wanton waste 
of the least useful thing wrong, this half day of sheer idle- 
ness and mischief seemed ver^^ foolish and trifiing ; and 
several other things appeared to her in the same light, that 
to them seemed but matters of course. 

Here, for the first time, she heard piano music. Perhaps 
her expectations had been raised too high by aU she had 
heard of its sweetness. At all events she was somewhat 
disappointed in its tones, and as to most of the songs 
the girls were practicing, she thought them very friv- 
olous indeed. She herself, though full of life and buoyancy, 
invariably sang either sacred music, or something pathetic, as 
“ Pastoral Elegy,” etc. Even the critical Miss Sydney found 
little or no fault with her singing, but she exclaimed often 
against the sentiment of her songs. 

‘‘Now, Miss T.,” she would call out in her semi-jesting 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


245 


way, what doleful ditty are you rendering ? It quite gives 
me the horrors to listen. What can possess a bright young 
lady hke you to so delight in dirges and dead marches ? 
Why can you not sing something nice and fashionable, like 
other folks ? ” 

Much has been wiitten concerning the ill-furnished rooms 
and poor, insufficient fare of boarding-schools ; but, if ever 
true, this one was an exception ; for all over the house, from 
kitchen to dormitories, everything was plentiful and well- 
ordered. For breakfast and tea thera were but few dishes 
—only three or four ; but what there was, was abundant 
and well prepared. For dinner, there was the best the 
market could afford — always two courses, often three. 
Boast-beef and pudding, as near like those of old England 
as possible, were standard dishes. Fowls were not uncom- 
mon, and no meal was set without butter and cream, the 
latter being used lavislily on toast, green beans, and other 
things that Elza had never seen dressed with it among the 
large dairies of the country. Broken or cold meat in its 
own form, or any other, never appeared on the dinner-table 
the second time ; and as there was much more than was 
needed in the kitchen, careful Elza often wondered if so 
clever a manager as Miss Sydney knew or allowed such 
shameful waste. 

But one day, walking in the garden, she met the garden- 
er bearing a large basket of edibles to his lodge, just beside 
the wall, and afterward learned that all the cold victuals 
were thus disposed of to outside work-people. So that 
was settled satisfactorily. But another trifle somewhat 
annoyed her. The cook was a good creature whom all the 
girls liked ; and one morning Elza, passing the back-porch, 
saw her busily prepaidng to bake. 

“Good-morning, Esther,” she said, pleasantly; “what a 
quantity of eggs you are beating ! ” 

“ Yes, Miss,” said cook, complacently, “ and the best lot 
we have had for a good while.” 


246 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Elza stared. ‘‘ Why, cook, eggs are either good or bad. 
You can’t have different grades and prices of them, as you 
can of your flour and butter.” 

“ Oh, I daresay not, in the country. Miss, where every- 
thing’s sweet and fresh. But here in the city we do have 
several kinds, specially at this season, and likely you wouldn’t 
think any of them just first-rate.” 

Then I would dispense with them entirely,” said Elza, 
disgusted. 

‘‘Ah, but Miss Sydney always insists on her last courses; 
so I looks sharp, and buys the nicest I sees; but they’re 
often a bit mixed and bloodshot; but really, these are a 
middling good lot.” 

After this revelation, the dainty Miss was a little cautious 
of the tempting cakes and custards; but there was all that 
was needful without them 

Like most institutions of the kind, this school also ex- 
cluded all lovers and love-making, and with excellent suc- 
cess, too. Yet even Miss Sydney’s authority could not pre- 
vent the neighboring students and others from occasionally 
choosing to take the air at the same hour with her young 
ladies; nor could her utmost care detect or prevent every 
admiring glance that followed them. But of all these casual 
street admirers, perhaps none amused so much, or was so 
long remembered, as Gray Wolf, an Indian chief, who, 
having some treaty, or other business with the city fathers, 

spent som-e time in B . This child of nature, in the 

gayest of gay blankets, and all the glory of beads and 
plumes, ear-rings and nose- jewels, was forever crossing 
their way; often halting the whole demure procession to 
insist on shaking hands with the stately principal, and also 
with several of her charge. Elza was light of foot, straight 
and slender, with dark, piercing eyes, and long, dusky hair. 
Perchance she faintly recalled to him some maid of his na- 
tive forests; at all events, she and her mate. Miss D., were 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


247 


honored as the goodliest of pale-faces, “as much purty 
squaws,” and whoever else was slighted, they seldom, if ever, 
were able to escape his eagle eyes, or to avoid the grasp of 
his huge, not over-clean hand. But Miss Sydney, remind- 
ing them that it was never wise to give needless offence, 
bade all treat him civilly, and herself set the example by in- 
variably returning the chief’s courtesy with punctilious po- 
hteness. As has been hinted, this august lady, though a 
pattern in many things, was not without her foibles ; and 
she had one serious fault, that so nearly affected Elza’s 
prospects, that it may not be omitted. This was nothing 
less grave than (“ not to point it too finely ”) an occasional 
deviation from truth. The first mistake Elza noticed was 
that she was frequently introduced or mentioned as “ from 

the South.” Miss T., from L etc. After correcting 

this error various times without any effect, she concluded 
that Miss Sydney must have a very poor memory indeed, or 
else she prefeiTed the mistake, as pupils from a cultured 
capital would bring more eclM to her school than those from 
a rude frontier. 

The next odd story related to her drawing-lessons. For 
awhile at first these had been delightful, and she had re- 
ceived warm praise for her aptness, docility, and diligence. 
But gradually this had changed, and the longer she worked 
and the more she improved, the less approbation she re- 
ceived, and the oftener Miss S. shook her head. Often tho 
exercise closed with these remarks, “ Ah, Miss T., you will 
never draw at this rate.” “ Take more time and care. Miss, 
or you will never draw well” Elza was troubled and vexed. 
She was taking quite as much pains as formerly, following 
every dii-ection to the best of her ability, and, as she and 
her mates thought, making good progress. But then, of 
coui'se, her teacher should know best; and her sharp criti- 
cism, or, at best, “ faint praise,” worried and puzzled her 
continually. But at length she was unexpectedly enlight- 


248 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ened and consoled. On a dull, rainy evening, while busy in 
her own room, Adah L. came smiling in, exclaiming gaily, 
“ Good news. Miss T. What will you give to hear it ? A 
first-class compliment for you from headquarters.” 

Elza bowed. 

“ Many thanks for kind intentions,” she returned, laugh- 
ing; “but is there not some mistake? You know Miss S. 
pays me no compliments of late, and seems quite discouraged 
about my case.” 

“Yes, yes, but that is aU pretence; she don’t mean a word 
of it,” retorted irreverent Adah. Continuing, “I overheard 
some whispers from her camp lately, and have come on pur- 
pose to report. Yesterday, after I had got excused from 
walking, and the rest of you were gone, I went down-stairs. 
There was a lively hum of conversation in the parlor, and 
as I distinctly heard your name mentioned, I pricked up my 
ears, and as I came nearer, what should I see but our ven- 
erable principal entertaining her guests with views from 
your sketch-book, and ” 

“ Adah ! was Miss S. really exposing . my errors and turn- 
ing them into ridicule before company ? ” Elza exclaimed, 
and her dark eyes flashed. 

“ Silence in court ! Don’t interrupt and cross-question a 
witness till her story’s finished,” laughed the judge’s 
daughter. “I speak truth, nothing but truth, as the law 
demands. Really your work was on exhibition. Tinily, 
Miss Sydney was the showman. Just as truly the company 
were nodding and smiling over it. Bot don’t you grow so 
flushed and angry. No, no; there’s no occasion -at all. Be 
easy now, for I assure you no one was sneering at your 
pieces; but all were praising. The ladies were passing them 
from one to another, and glibly exclaiming over the talent 
displayed; and, as I passed out, I heard Miss S. reply in her 
decided way: ‘Well, well, be it talent, or be it care and 
diligence ; I never had a pupil in my class before who made 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


249 


such, progress, such remarkably rapid progress.’ So there 
now, get out of your blues ; be lively as a cricket, or I sha’n’t 
go eavesdropping for your benefit again.” 

Elza was all smiles and gratitude ; but presently her 
brow clouded again, and she queried : 

If Miss S. really thinks I am getting on, why does she 
not say so, instead of finding so much fault ? ” 

“ Oh, as to that,” returned Adah, “ who pretends to fathom 
her motives ? She may have a dozen reasons, known only 
to herself ; but I can guess at two or three instantly, that 
may account for the snubbing you receive.” 

“ Then pray go on. Miss L.,” cried Elza ; “ I wait with im- 
patience.” And Adah gravely proceeded : 

“ Perhaps she thinks it wiser to clip your wings in time, 
lest so bright a genius soon soar beyond her ken. Or pos- 
sibly she prudently fears the effect of praise on your ten- 
der mind, lest you be too much elated, too sadly puffed up 
A\fith naughty pride and vanity.” 

Elza winced at this sly thrust at her peculiarities ; for 
she did love praise, and, like Fred, had her full share of 
self-esteem. For a moment she frowned, and then she 
laughed. ’Twas no use trpng to be vexed with gay, good- 
humored Adah. Besides, the girl, in her own way, had done 
her a true favor, in showing her Miss Sydney’s real senti- 
ments. For after this information, undue censure did not 

disturb and vex her as before 

The Sydneys were staunch “church” folks, and though 
no formal “ Act of Uniformity ” had been passed in their 
school ; yet, they both wished and expected their boarders 
to attend it with them. Elza had often heard her mother 
describe the Episcopal service as common in the Jersies ; 
but to. her, it was a new experience and not wholly a pleas- 
ant one. She had always been accustomed to the dignified 
simplicity, and reverent, orderly solemnity of a simpler 
form of worship ; and it held a place in her affections that 
11 * 


250 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


no other could. This new worship, she confessed, was good 
also ; the same old Gospel read and preached ; the doctrine 
sound ; prayer and praise devout. But then, everything 
else was so different. The oddly-shaped, variously-hued, 
often-changed garb of the minister seemed so strange. 
The loud responses, frequent change of posture, and re- 
peated “ amens ” confused and embarrassed her. She was 
always losing her place in the lessons ; always fearing she 
had done, or should do something wrong, and perhaps be 
blamed by the polite, well-drilled congregation for contempt, 
awkwardness, or irreverence. To avoid this, she was forced 
to watch the movements of others, and her own closely ; 
and this constant looking on the outward appearance, left 
her little time to keep her heart and tune it to devotion. 

After a number of Sabbaths, finding herself still but par- 
tially initiated, she perceived that it would be a long time 
before she could worship there without distraction, and she 
resolved to ask permission to go elsewhere. But where could 
she go, was the question ; for on inquiry, she found there 
was not such a sect as Baptist in the place ; and though the 
Presb^derians were pretty numerous, they had no church 
in that part of the city. These two were the only sects she 
was acquainted with ; but in fact, there was no place of wor- 
ship of any denomination neai* the school but the Episco- 
pal church, except a little, mean-looking, homely chapel of 
some description, that she had sometimes seen Esther, the 
cook, and other seiwant-girls resorting to. Nothing else 
offering, she thought of this ; perhaps here, without ‘‘pomp 
or circumstance,” the poor had the Gospel preached to 
them. But would she get liberty to go and see for herself? 
At the first opportunity she went to the principal, and in 
her most respectful manner explained the whole case to 
her. INIiss S. bridled and flushed ominously at the first 
hint of dissatisfaction ; but when the lowly chapel was men- 
tioned, did not attempt to conceal her contempt. “ What ! 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


251 


leave ‘ the church ’ for a place like that ? Change a fellow 
of Oxford, and a venerable D.D., for a vulgar, ranting 
ignoramus, whose whole hbrary is carried in his pocket 
from one low conventicle to another ! Truly, Miss, your taste 
is admirable ; your judgment does you honor.” And yet 
after cooling down, and a few minutes’ reflection, she con- 
fessed that “ there really was no impropriety in the request. 
The place was decent, and near by, and Esther was a staid 
and faithful attendant ; she could go.” Elza waited for no 
second permission ; but on arriving there, found the picture 
had not been much over-wrought. The congregation was 
small and meanly attired. The preacher uncouth in name, 
form, and feature ; with little knowledge of books and still 
less of society. Yet he was mighty in the Scriptures, pow- 
erful in exhortation, fervent in prayer. There were few 
modes and forms, httle to distract the attention ; and 
though some things offended her taste, yet, on the whole, 
she went home refreshed and well pleased, and gladly re- 
turned to it as often as the Sabbath dawned. Meanwhile, 
Miss S. had watched her jealously but silently. She had 
supposed it would be but a brief, girlish whim ; but when 
weeks went by, with no sign of recanting, she waxed indig- 
nant, and began to cast about for some plan to mete out a 
little wholesome punishment to such temerity ; some small 
penance that would be noticed and felt by the culprit alone, 
but make no talk in her quiet, genteel school. 

Yes, she had it now. Some day when the rector was 
there she would manage to bring this case of conscience up, 
and talk it over with him in Elza’s presence. That could 
not be called punishment ; would make no gossip in school or 
out, and yet she felt sure would cut keenly, and “ confuse 
and confound ” the delinquent more than ever the ‘‘ church 
service ” had done. 

An occasion soon offered by a half holiday occiuring, 
when the rector, as usual, came to tea. He was a grand old 


252 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


man, — grave, stately, learned, and pious, and withal a pol- 
ished gentleman, revealing unconsciously in every word and 
act cultured intellect and gentle blood. 

Most of the pupils had gone out, or were about going; 
and as soon as only the proper trio remained. Miss S. easily 
brought up parochial affairs, the new clerk, the band of 
young ladies soon to be confirmed, and so on, and so on. 

And j^resently, to Elza’s consternation, her own case was 
mentioned; her sad declension reported, and the descent 
she had made socially and ecclesiastically, dragged to light, 
ending with, “And can you credit it. Dr. Woodbridge, 
though Miss T.’s enlightened conscience forbids her wor- 
shipping with us, it gently leads her to the Grub Street Con- 
venticle for instruction, where she is privileged to hear ser- 
mons she prefers to yours (or at least enjoys more), from 
his grace, the cobbler, old Peter Wolfgang.” 

All this was said smilingly, in my lady’s own airy, half- 
jesting way ; but neither of her listeners laughed. 

Taken thus by surprise, his reverence coughed and 
hemmed; poor Elza crimsoned and trembled, and, burning 
with anger and mortification, rose to explain; to try to offer 

some apology, to beg leave to correct a mistake, and 

But Miss Sydney, enjoying her embarrassment, gracefully 
waved her aside, and declined all correction or controversy. 
But happily the doctor’s politeness proved stronger than 
either his church proclivities or personal pique, for quickly 
recovering himself, he skilfully introduced a new and inter- 
esting topic of conversation, and during the rest of the 
evening, and as often as he met her afterward, treated the 
young dissenter with unvarying kindness. 

This incident discovered to Elza that she was not quite 
so strong-minded as she had supposed; for, though she had 
pronounced those little meetings good, and had enjoyed 
them much, yet she did not in the least enjoy having her 
connection with them exposed to the courtly English rector, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


253 


and herself made to appear more rude and silly than was 
true. She thought mentioning this matter at all entirely 
uncalled for; but if it must be done, the simple truth would 
have made her position sufficiently embarrassing without 
anything added that was not true; for Miss Sydney well 
knew she had never preferred old Peter’s sermons to the 
rector’s ; her objection having been solely to the intricate 
service. She could not but be much aggrieved and justly in- 
dignant at her ladyship, and inwardly resolved that she 
would never esteem or trust her again. But Miss S., being 
satisfied with the penance she had inflicted, was now ready 
to be all amiabihty again ; and in her gracious moods few 
could resist her. Elza found it impossible to maintain her 
icy reserve very long, and soon this little ripple sank away, 
and things proceeded more smoothly than before. 


CHAPTEK XXXIY. 

“ An apple of discord 

That walked the simple lassie mickle woe.” 

“ Lie not one to another The Lord hates a lying tongue.”- 

“Render to all their dues; .... fear to whom fear; honor to 
whom honor.” 

But much must be passed over while we hasten to close 
the scene with the tale of a book, that strangely enough 
bred mutiny in the camp, and eventually overturned ail 
Elza’s plans. 

In one of Eowland’s letters to his sister he mentioned a 
work he had lately read, which he said every young person 
should read, as it taught many useful lessons in a most at- 
tractive manner, abounded in natural incidents, life-like 
characters, and was every way as instructive as it was enter- 


254 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


taining; and ended his panegyric by requesting her to pro- 
cure it if it was in the city. 

Elza, as has been before stated, had been a tireless reader 
from childhood, whenever she could obtain anything worth 
perusal, and her thirst for books was really almost or quite 
insatiable. So a new work by an entirely new author, and 
recommended by that matchless paragon, brother Eowland, 
could not fail to be everything that was charming. 

School-girl like, she soon confided the coming pleasure to 
the others. None of them had seen it, and all agreed that 
it must be very fine to elicit such praise as she quoted to 
them from her letter, and several of the elder girls at once 
asked the loan of it when she had finished it. This she 
willingly promised, for, of course, anything that Eowland 
liked would be a treat fit to set before the king.” 

She told Miss Sydney too, who soon after permitted her 
to go in quest of the treasure; which, having found and paid 
a round price for, she carried to her room, all impatience to 
begin it. But she was doomed to disappointment. 

The title can not now be known, but it was a very taking 
one; the contents she thought not in keeping with the witch- 
ing name. It was a very good book, to be sure, brimming 
with pure, fresh thoughts — interesting, too, after a fashion; 
but then such common, every-day life was depicted; such 
plain, homespun, matter-of-fact people were introduced; 
such lowly, homely duties enjoined ; no glamour of ro- 
mance or poetry thrown round it, “ not a bit of high life in 
it.” 

Such a simple, quiet, quaint, countrified story as it was ! 
How would the gay, fashionable young ladies take it? 
Whatever would they think of her brother’s taste and judg- 
ment ? Doubtless they would consider her but an empty 
boaster for leading them to expect something so rare and 
elegant ; but harder and more monstrous still, the airy 
sprites might feel moved to laugh at darling Eowland, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


255 


and that would be insufferable insolence not to be thought 
of. Laugh at Eowland, indeed ! One minute she felt pro- 
voked at him herself for causing such a pother, and the 
next repented of the thought ; for was he not the best, no- 
blest brother living ; always seeking her weKare ; constantly 
interested in her pursuits ; ever guarding her from evil ? and 
though this was annoying, he had meant it for good only. 
Perhaps he judged her present atmosphere was not favora- 
ble to heart culture, and such reading would be a help 
heavenward ; or feared that while surrounded by wealthy 
companions who felt exempt from all the sober duties of 
life, she might be growing away from them, and in the future 
would find them distasteful and difficult ; and thinking thus, 
had sent these sketches of lowly, useful lives as a kind of 
antidote. But whatever his motives, no shade of shame or 
blame must rest on Eowland. And this very fulness of sis- 
terly pride and love made her so anxious about the reception 
of his book, for what would the ‘‘ Miss Grundys ” say ? 

Perhaps her feehngs were right and natural under the 
circumstances ; perhaps they were weak or wicked ; but 
wise or foolish, so she felt and reasoned, and she sat for a 
long time thinking, and wishing for some fair and proper 
way of escape from her small but vexing dilemma — forget- 
ting for the time her ill opinion of the principal’s principles, 
or because there was no one else to consult, she at length 
ventured to confide the matter to her sympathetic breast. 

Happily (or unhappily) that lady was in one of her sun- 
ny moods, and she listened with kind attention, and readily 
promised her aid. First she examined the book. 

“ Quite an original work,” she said, after giving it a hasty 
review. “ The author has fine descriptive powers, and wit 
and pathos ; but the field he has chosen, and his pecuhar 
style, will prevent popularity for a time. It is new, quaint ; 
in shoH, not the fashion'' And she agTeed with the owner 
that “ the .girls, in all probability, would feel more disposed 


256 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


to ridicule her brother’s choice than to appreciate it.” And 
to avoid all danger of such an unpleasant finale, advised 
that she should show it to none of them ; adding, “ Your 
mentioning and praising the book does not make it abso- 
lutely necessary the girls should read it, though they may 
expect to.” 

Ah, but you forget, ma’am, that it is the same as lent al- 
ready; that is, is promised. I was so stupid as to promise 
it to ever so many before I bought it, and they will be 
offended if I don’t.” 

Miss S. assented, and then she considered a moment. 

“ Yes, if you refuse it to them now, without excuse, they 
will be justly offended ; and if they read it, and laugh at 
both it and your idolized brother, you will be angry, and I 
can have no feuds in this school ; I must have only harmony 
and good-fellowship. But if you are sufficiently clever you 
can manage to escape from this slight web of your own 
weaving, and give no offence either.” 

Elza brightened up and began thanking her ; but the 
speaker, not heeding, went on: ' 

“ Tell the girls you are soiTy to disappoint them, but that 
either you or the shopman mistook the title of the book for 
one somewhat similar, and that as you can not exchange it 
for the right one, as you find it is not in town, you propose 
that they all edify themselves by reading this good, though 
low-lived story instead, as you have done. That will be 
amiable and polite in you, and will end the matter smoothly.” 

Elza looked bewildered. 

“ Yes, ma’am,” she said, slowly ; “ thank you. That would 
end it nicely if there had only been a mistake. But see,” 
and she drew the written title from her pocket and laid it 
on the book. “ Please compare them yourself ; I fear you 
will find not the least mistake.” 

Miss Sydney laughed. 

“ Of course not,” she said, lightly, as she saw the two cor- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


257 


responding letter for letter ; “ I did not suppose there was 
any discrepancy. This is only a ‘ make-believe/ as the chil- 
dren say, but it will answer very well to satisfy the girls, 
and you can tell them to-morrow and have it off your 
mind.” 

But Elza drew back. 

Oh, no ; please excuse me. Miss S.,” she faltered, ‘‘ but 
I can not tell them that.” 

‘‘ And why not, pray ? ” asked the principal quickly, arch- 
ing her brows; “it is very easily said. "Why not?” 

Elza was silent. The question was repeated more sharply : 

“ Answer me directly, Miss. Why can you not tell them 
this?” 

And with no time to think or choose her language, Elza 
replied bluntly enough : 

“ Because it would he a lie” 

At this startling rejoinder Miss S. caught her breath, and 
her thin, pale face flushed hotly. She did not admire such 
off-hand, informal speeches in any one but — herself. Never 
had a pupil given her such an audacious, outlandish kind of 
answer before. But as she herself had called it forth, and 
also knew that it was not meant for impertinence, she 
thought best to pass it over leniently. So only demanding 
in a majestic voice, “Is that a proper answer to give me? 
Have you no sense of propriety at all. Miss T. ? ” she went 
on with the conversation. 

“ You did not mean what you said to be taken literally, I 
am sure. You can not really consider such httle fictions as 
falsehoods that you dare not utter ? ” 

“ Excuse me, ma’am, but indeed I do,” replied Elza, 
earnestly. “ What is intended to deceive, told as truth, and 
yet is not truth, must be false.” 

“ Then you would really call them lies ? ” retorted Miss 
S., half angry, half amused. “ Why, you absurd creature, 
lies are base, black sins; Satan’s own progeny; hateful and 


258 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


hurtful to God and man ; while these small, white stories, 
that prevent mischief, make peace, and injure no one, have 
no place in that vile catalogue at all. Can you not see the 
immense difference, the infinite distance between them. 
Miss?’’ 

Yes,” Elza assented, there were many kinds and degrees 
of falsehood, and some were certainly far more heinous 
than others ; but she thought all, even those told in mere 
sport and banter, wong and to be watched against. 

No,” replied Miss S., “ what I defend are at least excus- 
able, and are too useful to be totally excluded. You will 
discover. Miss, that you must resort to one occasionally, or 
you wiU never get on.” 

Elza gravely shook her head. “ Then I must stand still 
till some way opens,” she said. 

Miss Sydney, seeing she was gaining no ground, began 
to lose patience. “ Miss T.,” she exclaimed, ‘‘ you might 
as well have been reared in a French convent, for all you 
know of the world. You are as ignorant of its ways as the 
‘ babes in the wood.’ Why, such things are as free and 
common in society as the air we breathe. They are told 
everywhere and every day, to avoid untimely calls, disa- 
greeable people, embarrassing positions, and what not. And 
they do prevent no end of awkward, uncomfortable things. 
This harmless ruse, planned for your advantage, will, I 
repeat, end this little affair pleasantly for all, and you will 
certainly see it wise to carry it through.” 

Elza thought of the old saying, the ‘‘ remedy is worse 
than the disease,” for the original trouble was nothing to the 
present one. She had found it delicate and difficult enough 
to at all contend with the principal when she was unjust 
and severe ; but now, when she had kindly troubled herself 
to assist her, to be obliged to combat her reasoning and 
refuse her advice, after asking it, was difficult indeed. Her 
logic sounded plausible too — it seemed an easy way out of 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


259 


her worry, and the tempter whispered, “ Why not accept 
her terms? It is your duty to obey your teacher — she 
surely knows best. Why add to your trouble by provoking 
her anger ? ” 

But she was enabled to withstand the temptation, and to 
the last firmly declined being governed by such crooked 
policy. Miss S. did not permit the affront to prey on her 
mind, as an ancient adviser did. She neither ‘ hung herself ’ 
nor Elza, yet she naturally felt incensed at such daring and 
obstinacy, and did not conceal it. Possibly, though, in time 
amity might have been restored again ; but in an evil hour, 
Elza, feeling the need of sympathy and advice, sat domi 
and wrote a long letter to Kowland. Only one passage of 
this unfortunate epistle can now be quoted verbatim, but 
that is enough to show its general character. After telling 
him that she believed he and others had been shghtly de- 
ceived in Miss Sydney, and narrating many of her peculiar- 
ities (if not misdemeanors) to prove it, she continued : 

“ And this devout woman, who every day on bended knee 
prays, ‘ Lead us not into temptation,’ has yet very dexter- 
ously contrived a lie for me to tell.” Then followed a full 
account of the matter, and it ended by asking whether he 
judged siich an one, however learned, polite, and accom- 
pHsbed, a suitable person to teach and mould the young. 
It was late on Saturday night when she finished this can- 
did confession of another’s sins, and she secreted it in the 
most secret part of her sanctum to await Monday morning’s 
post. 

Next day, the principal, complaining of indisposition, re- 
mained at home mth little Edith, an English child she had 
lately adopted ; but Elza went to church as usual. On re- 
turning, this small maiden, E., met her with a message from 
“ auntie,” that she would be pleased to see Miss T. a mo- 
ment in her own room; and, without waiting to throw off 
hat or mantle, she ran up-stairs. She found the principal 


260 


ROSE AND EI^A. 


waiting in state, richly dressed, enthroned in her high- 
backed, purple-cushioned mahogan}^ chair, the look of a 
tragedy queen on her face, and — ‘‘ confusion on confusion ” 
— ^her (Elza’s) last night’s letter open in her hand ! 

As the door opened. Miss Sydnej^ treinbhng and white 
with wrath, started to her feet. And Elza, wide-eyed and 
white with fear, stopped, transfixed and dumb, on the thres- 
hold. And silent as two statues, there they stood and 
stared at each other. But Miss S. soon found her voice, 
and, as was to be expected under such a provocation, poured 
a perfect storm of indignation on the culprit’s head ; till, 
having exhausted all the English words used in well-h'ed 
“ rating ” and reprimand, she paused, and, in a calmer tone, 
asked if the defendant had anything to offer ? But what 
could the poor criminal say ? She was in a woful predica- 
ment ; had no counsel, no friend ; and all the evidence of 
her guilt was already in the judge’s hand, and, worst of all, 
summed up by herself, and she could neither deny the writ- 
ing nor the intention to post it. What could she say or do 
but offer her sincere regrets, and say that she had always been 
in the habit of confiding everything to Eowland. 

“ That,” said Miss S., would be entirely proper, if you 
wrote of proper things ; but this communication is shame- 
ful, slanderous, perfectly outlawed, I might say libelous.” 

The listener started. She had not supposed the plain 
truth, however uncomplimentary, could be termed slander ; 
but she held her peace ; and directly Miss S. continued, 
more angrily : 

‘‘Yes, Miss, your conduct in this affair is nothing less 
than outrageous, without a parallel in my experience. You 
merit no consideration ; you deserve instant expulsion ; yet 
before proceeding further, I will be so kind as to again ask 
if you have anything more to say in defence or explanation ? ” 

During all this trying ordeal, Elza had been terribly 
frightened, as well she might be ; and seeing visions of pun- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


261 


ishment and disgrace looming up before her, had deemed a 
modest, discreet silence better than valor. But when her 
worst fears were realized in this open threat of dismission, 
seeing she was gaining nothing by meeknessj she resolved 
to hazard a question she had all the time been burning to 
ask. So, steadying her voice for the effort, she replied : 
That it was not in her power to offer any defence ex- 
cept that this obnoxious sheet was never intended to insult 
or wound her feelings, being strictly private, written for ad- 
vice in a case of conscience, to be read by one person alone 
living hundreds of miles away, who would keep it as silent 
as death itself ; but if permitted she would wish to ask a 
slight explanation herself. 

“ Say on,” said the judge, severely. 

And she continued : “ I would be glad to learn how a 

private affair became pubhc? Who had the authority to 
enter and search my room in my absence, and carry away 
my own personal property ? ” 

Miss Sydney colored, and answered more quietly : 

“ It was not searched at all. This precious missive was 
found by one not capable of searching for it. Little Edith 
found it somewhere, and innocently brought it to me.” 

Elza knew that a regular detective would not have dis- 
covered her secret soon, much less this artless child ; but 
letting it pass, she continued : 

“ A letter might be found by accident; but pardon me if 
1 ask, if when sealed and directed to another, could it be 
opened and read by accident ? ” 

At this saucy question Miss Sydney’s ire blazed out afresh : 

“ I would have you to understand,” she cried, that I 
have full and unquestioned authority to read everything 
that goes out of this school, no matter by whom written or 
to whom addressed.” 

Elza knew that such a law did obtain in some schools ; it 
might possibly have a place on the statute-book here, too ; 


262 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


but if SO, it must generally have lain there a dead letter, or 
why had she never so much as heard of its existence before ? 

She intimated this thought to Miss S., who, deigning her 
no explanation, she next inquired whether she might now 
reclaim her luckless letter ? 

Miss S. answered by dropping it into her own desk and 
turning the key. 

^‘Have no fears. Miss,’’ she sneered; ‘‘your fine composi- 
tion shall be safe. It will be mailed to-morrow, enclosed 
with one of my own, to your brother. And while your case is 
pending, please to consider yourself only as a boarder. You 
will take no lessons, nor can you take the air with others, 
but alone in the grounds; and you will confine yoimself prin- 
cipally to your own apartment.” 

Then, putting the key in her pocket, she silently motioned 
Elza from her presence, and swept haughtily down-stairs. 
Next day, according to promise, the two strange epistles, 
destined to amaze Rowland, were started on their mission, 
and were followed by others; but what the ireful lady wrote, 
or the cool lawyer replied, no one now living knows. Of 
course he lost no time in answering Elza’s, too, condoling 
with, advising, and chiding, in brotherly fashion. 

He was naturally not only sorely disappointed, but vexed 
and mortified at the thwarting of his plans; but while pained 
and surprised at the lax precepts and example of Miss Syd- 
ney, and proud of his sister’s integrity, he yet feared that as 
a pupil she had probably lacked somewhat in showing the 
respect due the former’s age and position as a gentlewoman, 
the head of the house, and princij)al of the seminary ; and 
he wished to judge impartially, and assist Elza to do the 
same. He said, in substance, though he approved of her 
conduct in general, endorsed most of her sentiments, and glo- 
ried in her incorruptible truth ; yet he would have been still 
more gratified if she had been a little more guarded in her 
intercourse with the principal at all time 5 , and especially in 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


263 


this present case. It would have been better if she could 
have conveyed the same meaning in a more delicate way ; 
with something less of brusqueness of manner, without such 
downright offensive bluntness of speech. “ A civil tongue,” 
etc., was a wise maxim, and “ A soft answer turneth away 
wrath”; “Be courteous ; .... adorn the doctrines of God 
.... in all things,” were older and wiser ones still, that 
she should heed. 

Probably Miss Sydney would have been far less angry, far 
easier appeased, if her logic had been opposed, and her ad- 
vice decHned in a softer, more deferential manner, for firm- 
ness and gentleness were not incompatible. And yet, even 
yet, if with his assistance she could in any proper way con- 
ciliate Miss S., and settle the trouble without compromising 
her principles, he Would wish her to remain ; but if not, 
she must at least content herself till her father or Fred could 
be sent for to take her away. 

Meantime, while this correspondence was going on, the 
days were passing slowly and sadly enough with Elza. 
True, when they met unavoidably, at meals or elsewhere. 
Miss S. treated her courteously ; but she received no leave 
to enter the school-room, — no encouragement to remain 
unnecessarily below-stairs, and in many ways was made to 
feel herself a grievous offender. 

The solitude of her chamber was favorable to reflection, 
and there, with no lessons, or settled occupation of any kind, 
she sat and thought the long day through ; thought of 
many things, but principally of this strange and sudden 
change in her position and prospects. And sitting by her 
low table, her books and drawings beside her, sometimes 
busy, sometimes idle : she strove to examine every incident, 
word, and act, impartially, to test every thought and motive; 
^ and went laboriously over the self-same ground, over and 
over a thousand times. Often these cogitations wearied 
her brain till late at night, and the same doubts and queries 


264 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


were ever recurring. Had she acted well or ill, wise or 
otherwise? Was there anything she should retract or apol- 
ogize for? And having no one to enlighten or advise at 
hand, she could only fall back on parental example and 
teaching. This, from infancy up, had been, that falsehood 
was an abomination in the sight of God; and not only 
wicked, but mean and cowardly ; a base thing, to be 
despised, feared, abhorred. And a hundred solemn texts 
on the liar’s sin, and the liar’s fearful doom, had been early 
and ineffaceably impressed on her mind. And now these 
strong truths, so fully learned, were her stay and comfort ; 
for if she momentarily wavered under the keen trial by day, 
during the cheerful hum of the (now to her lost) lesson 
hours ; yet at night when all was still, trying herself by 
these old rules, she generally was enabled to at last fall 
asleep in peace ; believing that however much she might be 
misjudged and disgraced, her course had been dictated by 
conscience alone. And occasionally she even reached the 
comfoidable conclusion that she was not suffering common 
punishment at all, but persecution, and that for righteous- 
ness’ sake. Others may see it differently, thinking that her 
speaking evil of dignities, and pertly judging herself better, 
if not wiser than her teacher, were faults richly meriting 
severity, and proof that her piety * was sadly tinctured with 
pride and self-righteousness. Ah well, none are perfect ; 
and if Elza’s gold had some alloy, her motives some mix- 
ture of frailty, it was but human, and bitterly enough she 
atoned for it ; for it not only brought her this present dis- 
grace and loss of lessons already paid for, but eventually 
cost her the loss of all her late-found, much-prized privi- 
leges of improvement, and entirely ended all her bright 
dreams of an artist’s life. 

What became of the ill-starred book, the innocent occa- 

* Elza did not profess piety at this period, but only regard for it. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


265 


sion of so much mischief ; whether the girls liked, disliked, 
or read it at all ; or whether, as is more probable, it was 
lost sight of and forgotten .in the excitement of the quick 
coming events it caused, is not clear. But, whatever its 
fate, it had already played an active part, and here disap- 
pears from the history and is heard of no more. 

Things continued to go on about the same between the 
belligerent parties. The principal still treated the pupil 
with strict, yet frigid politeness, and recognized her only as 
a boarder. And Elza seeing no prospect of her relenting, 
wrote to her friends, and began quietly to make ready for 
her transit. Whether Miss S. was as deeply offended as 
she seemed, and really desired or expected such an ending, 
or was only holding the rebel under ban tiU thoroughly sub- 
dued, she should acknowledge her errors, and humbly sue 
for pardon, is not known. But whatever her wishes or ex- 
pectations, they were ended by the arrival of Paul T., to 
convey his daughter home. 

As Elza was expecting him, all her packing was done ; 
and knowing his great dislike of both scenes and tardiness, 
she only ran down long enough to give him a hasty greet- 
ing, then quickly returned to her room ; whence she pres- 
ently emerged again, equipped in hat and habit, ready for 
her journey. Having no opportunity to bid good-bye to her 
pleasant companions, not even to her own classmates, leave- 
taking was but brief. She bowed silently to Miss Sydney, 
and giving one last parting look at the familiar scenes, 
bade farewell to school forever, and rode slowly and sadly 
away. But the city once out of sight, “ home and mother ” 
began to draw, and she soon became cheerful. 




12 


266 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEE XXXV. 

“ Work, work, duties and duties.” 

Wise or unwise, this rule proveth true. 

The old love the old ways ; the young love the new. 

A DAY had been set for their reaching home, and no acci- 
dent occurring, they arrived punctually at the time appoint- 
ed. Bessie was too happy at her child’s return safe and 
well, to grieve much over the cause that had hastened it. 
She gave her a true motherly welcome, and then speedily 
led the way to the supper-table that stood ready and wait- 
ing for them, spread with her own favorite viands. Fred 
came in too, with a jubilant greeting, and the four sat 
down. They lingered long that night, talking over all that 
had happened during her absence ; and she in turn told 
them of life in B , and gave a full account of the inci- 

dents related in the last chapter. As was to be expected, 
the theory of ‘‘ white lies,” “ fashionable lies,” or lies of any 
other kind or color, found no favor with her parents. They 
believed that any cross or inconvenience great or small, 
that could not be avoided without resorting to falsehood, 
must be manfully met and borne. Much less would they 
tolerate it when uttered wantonly, with little or no tempta- 
tion. They had endeavored to train their family to hate 
vice, and strive to shun even the appearance of evil, and 
were truly glad that their child had escaped so well from 
the influence of so worldly-wise and dangerous a teacher as 
Miss Sydney 

At the time when Elza was preparing to go to B , two 

or three old-fashioned solid farmers and their families had 
their own ideas on the subject, and they discussed it when 
they met, with all the interest and freedom due of er peo- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


267 


pie’s business, just as we do now ; and while some of the 
young foUis were envious at her good fortune, the old ones 
condemned the whole thing as unwise. 

‘‘ A smart, likely gal Elza is now, if they’d let her alone,” 
said one. Great on books, to be sure — all the T. young 
ones are mad after lamin’; but then, she does a power of all 
kinds of work, too, and does it well. My Marier says she 
spins her two dozen a day, besides milkin’; and that she 
does most other kinds of work accordin’ly.” 

“ Yes, it’s a thousand pities to sp’ile her,” said another ; 
“ but jest let her go a foolin’ around that boardin’ school, 
a-mixin’ with them idle, stuck-up city chits, and she’ll be as 
proud and useless as any of ’em.” 

“ Don’t be too hard on Elza,” said a third. ‘‘ I reckon it 
would sp’ile a’most anybody for hard work, to be dressed 
up, a- doin’ nothin’ for two or three years but fuss with 
books and picters.”"^ 

“ I ain’t a thinkin’ so much about its makin’ Elza good- 
for-nothin’ for work — that ain’t likely, for there isn’t a lazy 
bone in her,” remarked a kind old grandsire. “ What con- 
sarns me is, that it will sp’ile her content of mind.” 

“ Now, as we all know, she’s the life of -every bee she 
’tends, and her smilin’, perty face is as welcome as May 
flowers. But, likelier than not, when she’s been gone a 
spell, she’ll * **grow clean out of conceit of country life and 
country folks, and be real mopy when she comes home, 
’cause she’ll be allurs a-hankerin’ and pinin’ after the city. 
I’m afraid neighbor Paul, long-headed as he is, has made a 
big mistake this time.” 

“Well, well, neighbors,” cried a good-natured, motherly 
httle woman, “ if Bowly T. is able to send his sister to the 
siminary, and her folks are willin’, I don’t see as we need 

* Reading and writing were generally considered enough for a 
frontier girl, and perhaps a slight knowledge of accounts ; but many 

learned less. 


268 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


fret. She’ll make a clever scholar, I’ll warrant. All I 
wonder at is, that they didn’t send her sooner, if at all. 
Why, it’s high time Elza was thinkin’ of marryin’, instead 
of school. She’s past nineteen now, I judge, and many are 
wives at sixteen — ^her own sister Rose was, you know.” 

“That’s true,” said another, “and often a gal’s best 
chances come before she’s twenty. But my Dan calculates 
that Miss Elza don’t mean to marry around here — says she 
don’t show a bit more favor for one than for another.” 

And so the gossip went on; and, truth to tell, her parents 
had vexed themselves with similar doubts — had feared that 
perhaps several seasons in town would make the simple 
pleasures and sober duties of home-life distasteful And 
when they heard she would return before half her term had 
expired, they feared that the disappointment of not attain- 
ing what she had intended would sour her temper, and 
probably have even a worse effect than a longer stay would. 

But happily all these j)rognostications were at fault. Elza 
had too much sense to put on silly aii;s, make herself or 
friends unhappy, or act the fool in any way. She was not 
spoiled at all, either for work or play. Ninety-nine out of 
a hundred would have pleaded fatigue after a long journey 
on horseback ; but Elza, on the very first morning after her 
return, rose with the dawn, tripped down to Rose’s shady 
spring with her pail, singing like a lark, and ^ad one of 
Miss Sydney’s dehcious breakfasts ready on the table when 
her mother came down. 

And as she began she continued. She had long been an 
invaluable assistant, and as her mamma, always delicate, 
was now often ailing, she tried to lighten her cares more 
and more, and gradually relieved her of many altogether. 
This was kind and dutiful, but it left her less and less time 
for books and art. 

The very first thing after her return, on unpacking her 
goods, had been to bear everything that pertained to the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


269 


latter to her room, and lock them safely in that same top 
drawer. For though it was no longer a secret, Fred might 
injiu'e them, rummaging there for something ; and little 
Bessie’s meddling fingers must be guarded against, especi- 
ally as there were many fine plates in the drawing-books 
to tempt her. Of these she had three, containing all kinds 
of models, rules, and directions ; and also notices of all the 
different schools of painting, ancient and modem, with 
sketches of the lives of the most eminent painters, from 
Apelles, Kaphael, Titian, Michael Angelo, etc., down to our 
own English and American artists — Keynolds, Trumbull, 
West, etc. And having locked them in, there they all lay, 
very safe and quiet indeed, for it was seldom she found an 
opportunity to disturb them. Plainly, the common work 
must be done at any rate ; and it was a frequent study with 
her how to systematize and condense it, so as to make a little 
more leisure. She found some housewives lessened the 
labor of cooking in winter by preparing large quantities of 
provisions at once, such as pies, roasts, and other things 
that cold and frost did not injure. And one close, careful 
woman, who grudged boarding her own boys when idle, 
did not make this proviso, but went so far as to store up on 
Saturday enough buckwheat cakes to last half the next week ! 
‘‘Warmed'-up cakes are good enough to do nothin’ on,” she 
said, “ and they go a sight furder than fresh ones do.” Few, 
however, cared to follow this example ; but Elza did like 
the plan first mentioned, and adopted it. With mamma’s 
assistance she would bake and cook for two or three days con- 
tinuously, till she had a real host of mince-pies and other 
kinds ; great heaped-up pewter platters of crullers, cakes, 
doughnuts, and so on. When all were finished and cold, 
and the huge clay oven had also cooled, they were all car- 
ried back to it and stored one on another on its ample floor, 
and the door carefully fastened. There they kept perfectly, 
and were ready for use at all times, only needing to be set, 


270 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


an hour or two before wanted, beside the clear wood fire 
always burning on the hearth. 

Elza hked this new way well, and continued it a long 
time ; and the milking always being light during the cold 
term, she would have had a fair amount of time at this sea- 
son of the year for her own pursuits, had it not been for 
the flax-spinning and weaving. But as it was, she often 
gained three or four houi^s a week, and now and then a 
whole, happy day. Many small pieces of different kinds 
were drawn, but especially flower and fruit pieces, that 
found sale among the neighbors, who, not finding her 
‘‘spoiled,’" were as fond of her as ever. She took several 
hkenesses, too, in miniature, that were pronounced very 
striking, and sold readily, and more persons would have sat, 
could she have found time to accommodate them. She also 
gave many small drawings away to friends as keepsakes, 
and these being preserved by descendants, may still be seen 
in many distant towns and different States of our Union. 

Among her patterns was a quaint One, representing Char- 
ity and Bigotry, with their attendant maidens. The former, 
a meek-faced virgin, in spotless white faUing in graceful 
folds to the ground, stood with extended hand calling per- 
suasively to the other group : 

‘‘Saints of Jesus, sisters mine, 

Let us all together join. 

Like the branches on the vine.” 

But Madam Bigotry, with cold, forbidding face, was start- 
ing back, holding her robes aloof, and exclaiming harslily: 

“ Approach me no nearer, 

My garments are clean,” etc. 

Elza loved aU who loved the Master, of whatever name, 
and it was said by some that she really had too much 
charity”; but whether that was so or not, this old picture 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


271 


was a great favorite, and slie copied it again and again, 
sending one of them, with others of her best efforts, to Kow- 
land and another to Eose. Eowland returned thanks and 
praise ; he was pleased, but not satisfied. He had beheved 
in his sister’s talents before, now he saw the proof ; and it 
seemed too great a waste of heaven’s gifts for her to be 
spending her years acting as maid-of -all- work, instead of 
cultivating and using them ; and he again offered to re- 
move and support her where they might be improved and 
appreciated. But from one cause and another, this second 
offer was not accepted ; but he encouraged and aided her 
home culture by advising her what to study and read, and 
by furnishing the works he recommended, once sending her 
a hundred dollars worth of books at one time. 


The T.’s, though in good circumstances, and living and 
entertaining hberaUy, were much opposed to all vanity and 
ostentation ; and although they allowed Elza to buy what she 
chose with her own' means, they yet watched narrowly 
whether her choice was judicious, and read her many a 
lecture on the sin and folly of pride in dress. 

“Mamma,” said the saucy puss, at the close of one of 
these homihes, “don’t you think I inherited this naughty 
love of dress? Eemember you used to say, ‘Youi* mam- 
ma was a proverb for fresh, pretty toilets’; and wasn’t 

you a proverb, too, in H , where the Dutch frows called 

you ‘ that finikin, fine-feathered Jairsay bird ’ ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” retorted mamma ; “ but that was all nonsense. 
I had nothing but what was proper and such as was cus- 
tomary ; I never bought such gewgaws as you do.” 

“No, ma’am, of course not,” returned Elza, “they were 
not worn at that time. You got w^hat was fashionable then; 
I only get what is used now.” 

But Bessie was not convinced by this half- jesting, half- 
earnest argument ; and continued to criticise and warn in 
motherly fashion as often as she judged necessary. 


272 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Elza believed the maxim, “ The dearest is the cheapest,” 
and generally purchased the best, which, with her nice care, 
lasted and looked well a long time. At one time she bought 
an elegant silk scarf, flesh-colored, and edged with filmy 
fringe and netting, that had lately come in vogue for young 
girls. It was very ample, shading her white dress like a 
mist in its soft, shimmery, pinky folds, and falling from her 
shoulders almost to the floor. It did look airy and fairy- 
hke enough, and the first time she appeared in it, issuing 
from her chamber like Aurora, Bessie exclaimed : 

“Beautiful! but gay, too gay. Don’t be a butterfly, 
child.” 

By and by a costly, but fine, close, and durable ai’ticle of 
French crepe became the style, and when Elza came out in 
a handsome dress and shawl of that, “Elza, Elza,” cried 
mamma, “ have you no thrift at all ? Surely, you spend too 
much on dress,” and so on. 

But perhaps there was no one article she ever bought that 
she so much valued and prided herself on, or that others 
condemned more sevei^ly, than her first umbrella! For 
strange as it seems now, this common, every-day necessary 
was then a novelty and luxury, rarely seen and little known. 
But Elza, always among the advanced thinkers, and keen 
after experiments, hailed the new invention with delight, 
and went to see and examine it for herself. The erudite 
merchant had its history and virtues by rote ; when first im- 
poi^ted to Europe ; to England, etc. ; “ How the first one 
carried through London* was stared a#, hissed, and hooted 
at by all, while crowds of boys even pelted it with stones. 

“ As to its excellencies, they were manifold. It was a cool 
shade from sun, a secure shelter from rain, hail, snow, dew. 
It preserved the health, protected the dress, and could be 
made a valuable ally in cutting an unpleasant acquaint- 


* Old records say this was carried by J. Han way, about 1746-1750. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


273 


ance; and was, withal, as ornamental as it was nsefnl. "Wlien 
using it a little care was needed in passing or meeting oth- 
ers, lest some of its many sharp points should strike and 
jam off their hats, or maybe poke out their eyes. And on 
no account must it be spread during high wind, lest it 
should fly off into space like a comet, and possibly carry its 
owner with it.” 

“ Yes, yes,” Elza “ would be careful in using it,” and as 
usual, she chose the very best there ; one with a stout stalk 
and strong ribs of whalebone elastic as steel, covered with 
heavy silk of unfading hue. It was beautiful, too, a rich 
mazarine blue, with a wreath of white flowers, vines, and 
ferns, as a border ; the polished amber-tinged staff lavishly 
adorned with ivory and brass in plates, knops, and bands ; 
and four inches or more of the shining metal, elaborately 
carved, extended above the whole, crowning the apex like a 
tiny, burnished steeple, glittering in the sun. 

When her Serene Highness, like some Eastern sultana, 
came riding home under this gorgeous silken canopy of 
blue and gold, the good parents had not much patience left. 
‘‘That child certainly was possessed with curiosity, always 
hunting out and running after one new abomination or an- 
other. Now here she came lugging one of those strange 
machines called an umbrel, or umbrella.” “ Wliat a great, 
cumbersome blue tent to carry on horseback,” thought 
mamma, “ though it is grand.” “ Looks like a gilded pagan 
pagoda,” thought Paul. “And what a pretty sum it has 
cost; has not left a pound or a shilling in her purse,” thought 
both. “ Oh, the extravagant creature ! ” 

As soon as she opened the door (reading their sentiments 
in their eyes before they spoke), Elza began a hasty defence 
of her purchase, and a glowing description of its virtues. 
But her eloquence made little impression. The uns^^mpa- 
thetic audience objecting that “ the sun was no hotter, nor 
the rain and snow wetter than they had been for thousands 
12 * 


274 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


of years, when no such invention was known or found 
necessary; and if they were, it was not possible for such a fine, 
gay bauble as that to prove much protection, as it looked 
much more like needing careful shelter itself. No, no; it 
had been useful to spend money on, and it would be useful 
for little else, except show, and to excite the envy, and per- 
haps ridicule, of the other girls.” And so the debate end- 
ed, as many another has, with each ‘‘ holding his own opin- 
ion still.” 

A few weeks later Elza was caught in a heavy thunder- 
shower, reaching home in the very midst of it, and the new 
purchase darkened and bedrenched, with smaU cataracts 
pouring from every point, truly made but a sorry show; and 
naughty papa could not forbear a smile and a sneer at the 
sight. 

Ha, Elza, aren’t you in a fix now ! New hat, new gown, 
umbrella, and all, ready for the ra’gman, are they ? ” 

And anxious mamma cried : 

‘‘Hurry, hurry, child, or you’ll be sick. Off with your 
wet clothes ; quick, quick.” 

But Elza, loosening a pin here and there, shook out the 
folds of her dress, doffed her jaunty hat, and stood before 
them perfectly dry, without a spot or stain. The elders 
stared incredulously at her, and at the dripping, drowned 
umbrella; scarce believing that so frail a protection (and so 
wet a one) had withstood such a deluge, and brought her 
through neat and dry, or, not at least, without ruin to itself. 
But when an hour or two after, they saw it had dried with- 
out either shrinking or fading, and was every way as strong, 
bright, and handsome as ever, they were not a httle sur- 
prised, and could not but admit, that if Elza was forever 
trying experiments and hunting out new-fangled notions, 
she had really, for once, secured a prize of value. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


275 


CHAPTEE XXXVI. 

** Xo need of hurry, the sun is high. 

There’ll be time enough for that, said I.” 

“And so you trifle with a tried heart’s trueness, and so I cease to call 
you even friend. 

And so we bury from all sight and hearing, the memory of this 
friendship, and its end.” 

But while* Elza has been doing her deeds and “saying 
her say,” through two or three chapters, Ered has been left 
in inglorious silence. But in truth, that enterprising indi- 
vidual knew little of either silence or obscurity. He had no 
sort of faith in hiding merit, or “ blushing unseen,” but was 
always wide awake, up and doing. Besides his daily business 
and church-going, he attended to various other httle matters 
in the evenings, more or less necessary, often the latter. He 
was one of the prime movers in the various debating clubs and 
singing-schools of the neighborhood, and mounted on his 
black colt, scoured the country like “ Brom Bones, attending 
half the weddings and merry-makings for miles around.” 
Nor was this aU, for the versatile genius had gradually de- 
veloped another talent, and that was an unlimited capacity 
for flirting ; and where the fairest, wittiest maidens congre- 
gated, there was he. And while the cunning rogue commit- 
ted himself to none, he met them everywhere ; was the oc- 
casional escort of some, enjoyed the smiles of many, and 
gallantly admired aH. But this did not much please his 
grave father, who had no sympathy with so much ga.dding 
and gallantry, considering it an idle frittering away of both 
time and feehng. Fred was old enough to settle himself, 
and both he and mamma wished him to And a proper mate 
and do so ; and they were glad when he at length became 


276 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


seriously enamored by one that they could cordially wel- 
come as a daughter. 

Bertha Carson was a sweet, modest girl, intelligent and 
good; well. fitted to make any man happy who had the 
sense to understand and appreciate her. This was the com- 
mon verdict, and Fred believed it too, and also that he, of 
all others, was best suited to this paragon ; and further ac- 
quaintance, instead of dispelling, deepened the impression 
more and more. People smiled as they witnessed his devo- 
tion ; “ the restless rover was snared at last,’' they said, and 
predicted a speedy union; but it did not come. Some time 
after this Mr. Carson began to talk of, and prepare for, re- 
moving to a distant settlement, and people said again : 
“ Fred wiU never permit Bertha to be spirited out of the 
country ; this will bring him to the point.” The two fami- 
lies most concerned thought the same ; but all were mis- 
taken, for no point was reached, though he visited her on 
the eve of departui’e, and they parted as lovers ; but whether 
formally engaged or not, does not appear. 

During the rise and progTess of this affair, Fred had by 
no means given up general society, but he had been less 
absorbed in it, and a trifle grave and preoccupied. The 
girls had found him less entertaining too, and divining the 
cause, and deferring to Miss Carson’s superior graces had 
well-nigh given over captivating him, or even claiming him 
as “their common beau.” But after her removal, when a 
barrier of two or three days’ journey, over rough, strange 
roads lay between them, it was different. Her, he could 
very seldom see, but many others could be met weekly. 
Society was a law of his nature, and he returned to his com- 
panions, and to his former recreations ; at first, a little 
sadly, but soon with the olden Zest. His acquaintances 
were mildly surprised ; the lover’s buoyancy and readiness 
to be consoled by other fair ones, scarcely seemed becom- 
ing for the “days of absence sad and dreary.” Could the 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


277 


match have been broken off, they queried? His parents 
warned and watched his course uneasily. “ This giddy, silly 
trifling vrould lose him Bertha yet. What a heedless loon 
he was ! ” Elza understood him best of all. She knew in 
his heart he did prefer Bertha to all others, fully intended 
to make her his wife in due time, but had no wish to hasten 
matters too much. The present was brimful of pleasure ; 
too full of bright, joyous hours for him to desire an early 
change. Not even for love’s sweet sake, was he ready to 
give up his free, happy young life as yet. “ Youth comes but 
once ; we will gather all its sweets ; we wiU crown ourselves 
with rose-buds before they be withered.” This w^as his 
motto, and Elza read it as plainly as though written on his 
forehead, and she partially indorsed it too ; yet feared that 
while dallying so long in the gay parterre, toying with every 
flower he saw, his own peerless rose might be fading- 
through neglect, or haply be cuUed by another. But aU 
these doubts and fears were removed toward the close of 
the year ; when Fred, with considerable pomp and flourish, 
got himself up for a tour to Onley, and with a large sum 
for expenses went to spend the holidays at the Carson man- 
sion. “ Ah ! that is it,” cried all. Bertha wished to see her 
friends comfortably settled in their new home, and perhaps 
to see a little more of the world herseK before marrying ; 
and Fred, poor fellow ! had to divert his mind with flirting, 
or something else -while he waited. That explains it aU. 
And a wedding during the holidays, and a great infare, 
and serenade when they return, will be the very thing.” As 
Fred could set no certain time for returning, and would 
neither say yea nor nay to the marital question, his family 
could make no definite arrangements for a reception. But 
having good reason to beheve that whenever he did arrive, 
a bride would accompany him, Bessie wished to have . 
something settled ; and proposed for one thing, “ that as 
Elza’s room was one of the most convenient and handsome 


278 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ones, she should take another, and give hers to the young 
couple till they went to housekeeping.” But Elza got into 
a temper at this, and received this cool proposal with a 
very ill grace. ‘‘ Her pretty room that she had furnished 
herself, was very dear to her, and it was not kind or just to 
ask her to give it up to any one for months and months, 
not even to Bertha Carson. Fred had abundant means, — 
let him refurnish his own for his bride as elegantly as he 
chose, and perhaps she would lend them hers tiU his room 
was ready.” But there was no occasion to worry about 
bridal chambers ; for in a fortnight or so, Fred returned as 
he went, alone. Then everybody was agog again, and the 
neighborhood put on its studying-cap to find some clew to 
the mystery. “ They have dissolved by mutual consent,” said 
some. “Miss C. has jilted him,” said others. And this, 
that, and the other was guessed at and repeated. 

Meanwhile, the ex-groom kept his own counsel, and 
allowed the gossips to arrange the case, and fix the whole 
affair to suit themselves ; but to the home circle, he described 
his journey, the new place and people, the prosperity of the 
Carsons, and their hospitality to himself ; and to Elza, he 
spoke of Bertha, of their many long rides, walks, and talks ; 
and expatiated on the happy hours they had spent to- 
gether. 

“ And did they not all think, as we did here, that you had 
come to end the courtship, and bring away your wife?” 
demanded Elza. 

Fred laughed. I shouldn’t wonder if the family did. 
The old folks had an oddish, semi-parental look on their 
visages whenever we were left alone together, — that half 
frightened, half amused me.” 

“ And Bertha, what of her ? ” interrupted Elza. 

At her name, Fred sobered down. “ She was such a 
modest, shy creature, had so much womanly pride and deli- 
cacy,” he said, “ of course she would veil her feelings. But 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


279 


he thought he did detect a shade of surprise, or pain, in her 
manner, when he first intimated that their second parting 
was near.” 

“ Fred,” said his sister, reproachfully, “ why do you act 
so ? There was but slight reason for the first parting ; there 
was none at .all for the second. Your conduct is perplex- 
ing her friends, and perhaps grieving her. To say the least, 
you are wronging Bertha by keeping her out of society, and 
keeping aU other suitors at a distance. If you really love 
each other, and intend matrimony, why should you waver 
any longer ? ” 

“ Yes, surely,” Fred admitted, “ they were the best of 
lovers, and would marry some day; but there was no ‘ wed- 
ding haste ’ yet. There was a world of pleasure in single 
life too. He was enjoying himself famously here, and as 
there was plenty of good society and hosts of admirers in 
Onley, why should not Bertha enjoy herself a while there ? ” 
The freedom he claimed for himself, he freely accorded 
to her too. 

“ Ah, do you indeed ? And suppose,” said Elza, “ only 
suppose, some one of those new admirers, better, or at least 
more ardent, than yourself, should supplant you ? ” 

But Fred answered with his usual assurance, “ No danger 
of that at all. Bertha’s truth is beyond question. I could 
trust her through any ordeal. No one can supplant me.'' 

Elza had been a real Cassandra to him throughout; but, 
seeing that counsel was wasted on him, ceased to warn and 
persuade, and he went on his own way as usual. Near 
the close of the next autumn, just before Thanksgiving, he 
again set out on a journey to O , and this time every- 

body made sure of hearing the ‘‘wedding bells”; but for 
the third time everybody was mistaken, for no chimes were 
rung. 

Fred returned a gay bachelor still, and if any changed, a 
little gayer and more confident than ever. As usual, con- 


280 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


fiding to his «ister that he ‘‘ had enjoyed another delightful 
visit, the Carsons all so courteous and kind, and Bertha, sweet 
Bertha, fairer than ever, and true as steel. She had wisely 
taken his advice, too, about keeping her place in society 
during the interim, and had even followed his example so 
far as to have been indulging in a slight flirtation. The 
new swain was a clever, fine fellow too. Bertha had found 
him a very pleasant, interesting friend ; but of course this 
small by-play had ceased at once, when he, the real hero, 
had appeared on the scene. And duiing aU his stay the 
poor, discomfited knight could only hover on the outskirts, 
and watch, wistfully watch, his charmer from a distance. 
Bertha was too good and noble to deceive or wound any 
one, and had candidly explained her position to him at first; 
and he himself had not been slow in showing him who the 
lawful claimant was. Yet he feared from appearances the 
young man might perhaps suffer considerably when he 
fetched her away. Well, well, such things would happen; 
but Jones would have no one to blame but himself if found 
in a foolish predicament before long.” 

“ Oh, then, the important day is fixed at last, is it ?” cried 
Elza. “Tell me everything. Who is to go? When will 
it be ? Tell me all directly.” 

“Now, Elz, it’s coming,” returned Fred, hghtly; “it’s 
coming in a bee-line all right; but there’s no day set yet, 
nor month either. There’s time enough for that. Don’t 
you be so fidgety. It’s me that’s to marry Bertha; not you, 
nor mamma.” And he went off laughing, to dress for the 
singing-school and take home the prettiest girl there. 


But things must end some way, and, according to Fred’s 
prediction, there was, before long, a “young man found in 
a foolish predicament ”; but it was not Dick Jones. One day 
in the following spring, a paper came to hand, containing 
this old-style notice : 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


281 


^‘On Thursday, March 12, Elder Dalson joined in the 
bonds of holy wedlock, Richard J., son of John and Mary 
Jones, and Bertha C., daughter of William and Jane Carson, 
all residents of Onley, Columbia County.” 

Fred read, and every fibre of his being vibrated to the 
shock, and thrilled with amazement and pain. Bertha mar- 
ried! Bertha the bride of another! Bertha nothing to 
him I Parted — parted forever I 

A sense of irremediable loss and ruin swept over him. 
The blow was crushing; but he alone had caused it, and he 
must bear it — alone. He did not receive much sympathy 
in his trial. Friends and acquaintances expressed various 
opinions on the subject ; but on one point nearly all agreed, 
and the sense, summed up in two words, signified, served 
right.” 

To be sure, Fred was the best fellow living — ^they could 
hardly do without him, and he was, perhaps, some to be pit- 
ied, too ; yet in this matter he had blundered badly. This 
vacillating, dawdling course had been enough to try and 
chill any woman’s faith and love. And so far from being 
surprised at this ending, the wonder was that so proud a 
family as the Carsons, with a daughter so much admired as 
Bertha, had borne with him so long. Some treated the 
thing seriously. Some, merrily inclined, “ opined that this 
would disturb Fred’s self-conceit more than anything had 
since his boy-battle with Hal Lacy.” And so, bitter, grave, 
or gay, the talk went on. 

Fred had strong feelings, and they were stirred to their 
depths ; but he was also keenly sensitive to public opinion. 
Its blame was hard enough, but its ridicule and pity he 
could not brook — ^they must be turned aside. So, rousing 
all his pride and firmness, he met the world’s pity with 
scorn — its laugh and jest, with laugh and jest in return ; 
took part in all that was doing, and filled his wonted place 
in every crowd. And, the more effectually to cover his de- 


282 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


feat and conceal his pain, and, above all, to be quits with 
Bertha, he flirted more desperately than ever for a season 
or two, and then, like her, wedded another. 

No apology or explanation was ever asked or given by 
either party, and the paths once so nearly merged in one, 
“ thenceforth lay far asunder.” They never met again. 


CHAPTEE XXXVn. 

KARL AND META. 

** Where the morning-glories brighten in the dawning light, 

In a cot sat Meta weeping, all the day and night ; 

False the vows her lover plighted, as the changing moon. 

And that fair one fell, a blighted rose of June.'' 

“The Broken Heart” is another tradition of our past, 
which was said to be true in every particular — ^though now, 
to what exact point or period it belonged, is unknown ; but 
having some similarity to Fred’s story, it may as weU fol- 
low it, and it wiU be given as told by the pioneers of 
Fayette around their cabin fires generations ago ; and it 
was thus the story ran : 

The widow Niles was a worthy woman, who lived with 
her four children in a snug cabin at the edge of a great 
wood.* The only son was still small, but the girls were 
grown up, and being active and dutiful, were repaying her 
careful training well. Idleness was unknown among them ; for, 
besides their own work, indoors and out, they sewed, spun, 
and wove for the neighbors ; and thus, by the labor of their 

* Perhaps the reader may weary of this oft-repeated expression in 
describing localities j but should remember that it was literally true. 
In this age, when the country was new, almost every house stood 
near a great wood," if not in the midst of one. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


283 


own hands, managed to live comfortably and independently. 
Nor did they find work an evil ; on the contrary, while their 
homely tasks gave them competency, it also brought health 
of body and peace of mind, leaving little leisure for useless 
wishing or repining. And though they had no luxuries, few 
friends, and still fewer recreations, yet this humble family 
was not only far more useful, but far more contented and 
happy than thousands of the wealthy whose whole business 
in life is to enjoy it. 

In person and manners there was nothing about the N. 
girls that a novelist would have raved over. They were 
simply three modest, dark-haired damsels, passably good- 
looking, and with about the average intelligence. 

Meta, the third sister, was a decided brunette, with large, 
expressive eyes and a winning smile; but was chiefly charac- 
terized by an artless, clinging dependence of disposition, 
and a tenderness and tenacity of affection that, once fuUy 
awakei^d, and centered on one object, woiihy or unworthy, 
would truly prove her life's weal or woe. Nor was fate far 
away or long in appearing ; for a lover came, and she was 
wooed and won ere she was eighteen. Neither was it, as 
might have been supposed, ^‘an unthrift love for, besides 
his personal attractions, Karl Lawton belonged to a connec- 
tion of means and position, and was generally considered an 
excellent match. 

They were affianced after only a brief acquaintance, but 
were not to be united for some time ; but quite unlike Fred 
T., he guarded her all the while as jealously as a Turk, — 
neither gave nor asked any hberty, but strictly stipulated 
that no rivals or third parties should be tolerated at all on 
either side. They two were set apart, he taught her, to love 
eaoh other only ; for each other alone to live and die. And 
an apt, docile pupil was Meta. She learned the lesson well — 
too well — till her whole being was absorbed, and her very 
life bound up in his love. For three years he thus tested 


284 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


her fealty and his own, and still finding their feelings 
changeless, with full faith in each other, and bright hopes 
for the futui’e, they began to prepare for a speedy union. 
But now clouds began to gather in their sunny skies, and 
storms to darken the brightness of their horizon. 

Karl’s friends lived at some distance, and whether they 
had not before been aware of Meta’s poverty, or had not 
supposed his intentions serious, is not known ; but it is cer- 
tain that they now began to make the most bitter opposition, 
and rose, as one, to prevent the approaching nuptials. 

They had been thinking some little of removing further 
West before this, and now resolved to go ; for, on finding 
that argument and ridicule had little effect on Karl, and de- 
termined to break off the connection at all hazards, they 
speedily disposed of their real estate, etc., and invested the 
proceeds in another State. 

Home, lands, money, ever^dhing was gone now, and the 
son had only two alternatives. He might give up Meta, fol- 
low them westward, and sfciU be their pride and heir; or he 
might renounce his family, marry her, and remain where he 
was, a beggar, or at best as a poor man, depending solely 
on his labor. 

Through all this long acquaintance Karl had been, or 
seemed to be, a leal and tender lover, and might have 
proved constant to the end had all continued smooth and 
fair ; but this child of fortune was no hero. To him penury 
looked all-forbidding, too dark and drear for even love to 
brighten. He began to ponder, to parley, to wish and waver; 
and, finally, after a lingering, painful struggle, truth and 
manliood went down. He could not bear banishment, hard- 
ship, poverty. Bather than these he w^ould break every sa- 
cred vow, burst every tender tie, would literally perjure 
himself, and sell his love for gold. 

The resolve once formed, its Satanic author gave him no 
time for relenting, but hurried him on to its execution. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


285 


“Pleasure is over here; only pain remains,” he whispered; 
“ but there, new scenes, new joys await you. Forget the 
past, and away, away, to meet the glad future.” 

Karl listened ; and, guilty and miserable as he was, hasted 
and longed to be gone. Making a few hurried preparations, 
he mounted his horse, and only halting for a last brief in- 
terview with Meta, rode swiftly away to rejoin his friends. 

She, dear heart, had already heard many a cruel story ; 
but had utterly refused to credit aught against him. What- 
ever his proud kin had said or done, Karl w’as kind and 
good. Karl could never be doubted. Through everything, 
he was her own. Faithful, fond-hearted, always the same. 
But when she saw him all ready for the journey, when his 
own lips faltered the tale of his baseness ; when his own 
false hand grasped hers in farewell; then she believed, — 
then the poor child cried out in keen anguish and dismay: 

“ Oh, Karl, will you not take me too ? You must take 
me, — me. I shall die if you forsake me.” 

He strove to explain, to reason, and plead his cause ; but 
his explanations were unheeded. She was deaf to argu- 
ment and entreaty. To everything alike, she but answered 
the same : 

“ You must not forsake me ! I must die if you forsake 
me ! ” 

But all her piteous pleading was vain ; being determined 
now to dissolve the connection once for all, the craven hard- 
ened his heart against aU her love and grief, and left her 
moaning his name, and drowned in tears. Left her without 
one promise of fulfilling his vows in the future, or. of re- 
turning, though but for a visit, by and by. 

He was gone ; and Meta, after a few days of passionate 
lament, sank into a state of patient but unchanging dejec- 
tion that gradually deepened into settled melancholy. Her 
friends and neighbors, with quick sympathy and indignant 
pity, rallied to her side, and used every effort possible to 


286 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


divert her mind, and wean and win her from this useless, 
hopeless attachment. They strove to arouse her womanly 
oride ; teach her to give coldness for coldness, and scorn for 
5Corn ; to despise and loathe one so false and mean ; tried 
to turn her attention from herself, and awaken her gratitude 
by pointing her to other cases infinitely worse than her own, 
where there was sin as well as sorrow; a lost reputation, as 
well as a lost lover. While her fairest jewel, a good name, 
remained to her, “ better than precious ointment,” chaste as 
the snow. 

Others, bolder, tried banter. “She was young and fair,” 
they said, “ and wooers were plenty.” “ Better men than 
Karl were waiting for her smiles. Then off with the old 
love, on with the new. There was no cause for woe. Hear 
the good old song : 

“ ' Why droop ye, gentle lassie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 

Well find ye a truer sweetheart, 

And ye shall be his bride,* ’* etc. 

She was grateful to all for their kindness, heard and as- 
sented to their advice, smiled faintly at their jesting ; but 
that was all. She could not unmake her nature; everything 
else had changed, but she could not change. Karl was 
false, but she was true. He loved her no longer, but she 
loved him still. Her “ idol was clay,” her incense wasted. 
Yet, at that ruined shrine she worshipped still, and only 
there. 

Such deep-seated, wearing grief, soon began to tell on 
her health. Sleep and appetite failed ; she grew pale and 
languid day by day ; the doctor shook his head. “ Drugs 
could minister little or no rehef in a case like tliis,” he 
judged. She must be roused out of herself; must have 
change, company, new pursuits — something to divert her 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


287 


mind from the past, and break up its sad, endless brooding 
and preying on itself. 

But these wise orders the patient could not be induced 
to follow. “ She would try to work,” she said, meekly ; 
“but could not attempt the mockery of play.” Anything 
was better than nothing ; and they permitted her to re- 
sume a few of her lighter tasks. These she performed in a 
dreamy, listless sort of way ; and in the same spiritless fash- 
ion offered to assist at others ; but she was interested in 
nothing. No visitors, however gay, cheered her; nor could 
all the doctor’s dictums drive or coax her into society. 

But at length the kind importunity of her mother and 
sisters conquered. Seeing how deeply they sympathized 
with her, how earnestly and unceasingly they sought her 
health and happiness, she could not but remember how 
often in the past that newer friend had almost crowded the 
old from her thoughts, and how little, how far too httle she 
had prized their pure, unselfish, unchanging love. 

It was one day while musing thus in “ remorseful tender- 
ness,” that she clasped her mother’s neck, and promised 
thenceforth to “obey her fully. See aU they invited, go 
where they wished, and dress, sing, visit, do anything and 
everything to please them.” 

This was the most encouraging thing that had occurred 
since her disappointment, and her friends were overjoyed 
at the hopeful sign ; and, to bind her more closely and give 
her no pretext for going back, gladly promised that she 
should come out in prettier gowns than she had ever before 
worn, at the spring meetings and the summer bees. 

And these dear, loving women kept their word ; worked 
early and late, stinted, saved, denied themselves almost the 
very necessaries of life, to procure gifts that might please 
and cheer their stricken darling, and be an additional proof 
of their untiring love and unalterable interest in her happi- 
ness. 




288 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Other articles are not remembered ; but a soft, lustrous 
silk suit, made in the latest style, and hat, gloves, and ruff 
to match, were among the principal ones. And when the 
weather waxed warm enough for an invalid, Meta did as 
she had said: went out regularly with her sisters, not only 
to church, but to assemblies of various kinds; and old 
friends met her there amid the throng, and marked the 
change that grief had wrought, and noted the pathetic ef- 
forts she made to keep the vow she had perhaps rashly 
given to her mother, “to forget her sorrow, and smile and 
be happy.” But it could not be. The blow had been too 
heavy ; the wound was incurable. 

Time rolled slowly by ; another year was nearing its 
close. The young and gay, with feast and mirth and song, 
were ready to again 

'"Ring out the old, ring in the new.” 

But Meta mingled with them no more. They had long 
since ceased to urge, or ask her to drag her feeble steps to 
crowded halls. Nor was the shadowy form seen longer, 
gliding with slow, noiseless tread around her home ; no, for 
now, confined to her low-ceiled chamber and pallet bed, her 
last days were numbering. It was a twelvemonth after her 
lover’s desertion, when business calling him East, he un- 
expectedly appeared in B ; and hearing of Meta’s illness, 

called to see her. 

But it was useless now. The presence for which she had 
longed and pined her very life away, now brought neither 
joy nor pain. Wrapped in dumb unconsciousness, not even 
his voice could pierce the dull ear, or call back light to the 
fading eyes already set and glazing in death 

It was over. The broken flower had fallen ; and from far and 
near they gathered to gaze on its blighted bloom. To look 
on a maiden who had died for love, and on the lover for 
whom she l^d died, excited the curiosity and interest of the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


289 


more careless of the company; but deep-felt, open pity and 
smothered indignation were the prevailing sentiments. And 
when the fatherless sisters and widowed mother bowed in 
anguish over their injured dead, and kissed the sad, white 
face, and sobbed, and looked their last adieu, bearded lips 
quivered in sympathy and women wept and wailed. 

And what of the hero ; the nx-lover, the almost-wedded 
Karl Lawton ? Did a flood of unavailing woe and repent- 
ance sweep over him? Did he call madly on her name, 
clasp the cold, snow-heaped grave. 

And cry in agonies of sorrow : 

Sweet love, thou diedst for me to-day ; 

I’ll die for thee to-morrow.” 

This would have been fitting and story-hke ; but nothing of 
the kind transpired. If one little spark of the old love 
remained, it must have been concealed under a disguise 
more impenetrable than the “iron mask.” Or else he 
had so sold himself to evil, and done such violence to 
natural affection, as to be “ past feeling,” for he manifested 
none whatever. Through aU these sad scenes that should 
have pierced his heart, he acted with coldness and indiffer- 
ence, at times almost bordering on levity, unbecoming an 
entire stranger. He neither sorrowed himself, or showed 
any sympathy for those who did. What was the mourners’ 
grief to him ? Not even those most bitter tears with which 
they watched the closing coffin and the falling clods, moved 
his stony heart, or touched one tender chord. True, after- 
ward, when he found that public opinion condemned him, 
he intimated that had “Meta recovered, she should have 
been his wife.” But none believed him ; for if he dared to 
brave his family at all, why not sooner ? Why torture the 
poor innocent so long ? Why wait his coming till death’s 
seal was set ? 

The neighbors seeming unfriendly, he did not tarry; but 

13 ’ 


290 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


speedily dispatching his business, returned to his parents, to 
receive their gifts and smiles, and wed whom they chose. 


But now, it was time for retribution. 

No sooner was a dowered bride found and won, and mar- 
ried life happily begun, till his sin found him out. Con- 
science, that had slept before, now suddenly aroused, and 
like an avenging fury, pierced him with a thousand stings. 
Money, lands, everything, seemed the price of blood ; the 
blood of his early love, that from her lowly gi'ave called to 
heaven against him ; and thenceforward her injured spirit 
(he firmly believed) haunted his steps. It had come. It 
waited for him. It watched him. And so fully did this idea 
possess and fill him with fear and dread, that like some 
other guilty cowards we wot of, he was never afterward 
known to venture out after night alone, and very rarely even 
with company. 

Once to attend to something that could not be deferred, 
and at the urgent request of two or three of his friends, he 
set out with them about dusk. It was a bright, mild Octo- 
ber night ; their road, smooth and white, lay across a clean, 
level prairie, and they cantered along briskly, talking all to- 
gether. But before a mile was passed Karl started, and 
suddenly drew his rein, exclaiming with dilated eye, and 
hair on end : There it is ! ” What ? Where ? ” cried they, 
in a breath. But he had already wheeled his horse and was 
fiying homeward like the wind. The friends, glancing sig- 
nificantly at each other, paused to watch his flight. “ Tis 
the old story again,” they said, and rode on, debating, as 
they had often done before, whether a man of sense and ed- 
ucation like Karl L. could be siUy or insane on this one 
point. Or might it be possible that he was neither ? Was 
it barely possible that there might be some grounds for his 
strange belief? Was there still “more things on earth” 
than reason or philosophy could explain ? On these ques- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


291 


tions sentiment was divided; but on another, all agreed, viz. : 
that as the case stood, it would have been kinder not to 
have enticed him from home. But home itself did not al- 
ways prove a refuge, nor his couch yield him repose. 
Many a time he writhed and groaned on his pillow at dead 
of night, or started from his sleep with blood curdling and 
bones quaking with fear. It was coming,” he said ; “ it 
had entered his room ! ” ‘‘ It stood by his bed !”.... And 
this weird impression, instead of wearing away with time, 
seemed rather to grow stronger and stronger, till it invested 
the house with mystery from beam to rafter, and lurked in 
the very air. 

The patient wife, early burdened with the ghostly secret, 
missed much of the gladness of life; and the innocent chil- 
dren, too, soon knew, or felt, that there was some bhght on 
their birthright — some intangible something, that set them 
apart, making their home in a manner tabooed and their 
sire a pariah ; and, little by little, as the years passed, they 
came to comprehend the cause — came to know why their 
parents never spent evenings out like other people — why 
their mother was often so silent and joyless, and their father 
so unlike other fathers. They grew to expect his fits of 
sudden gloom — whispered together of the nameless pres- 
ence which he feared, and learned to read in his haggard 
face and smothered groans the signs that he deemed it 
near. 

Whether the wife and sons endorsed his sentiments on 
this subject entirely is unknown ; but the daughters agreed 
with him fully ; and even strangers sometimes hinted at 
unquiet rest there, and the more timid shrank from second 
nights beneath his roof. Strange adventures, it was said, 
were not uncommon there ; but only one, that of Dell Z., 
a friend of the girls, will be given here. 

Probably the Z.’s were rather new settlers in Y , for it 

would seem that Dell was quite unaware of the reputation 


292 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


of the house, till she went there on a visit and discovered 
it herself, in this way : At that age, the pioneer homes, 
even of the wealthy, had (if the family was large) but very 
seldom, a spare chamber. So the young guest was laid to 
sleep with Joan, the third daughter, in the same room with 
the parents. 

It was mid- winter, cold and drear without ; but within, all 
was calm and cosey, and soon guest and family alike were 
wrapped in slumber. But at dead of night the former was 
awakened by hearing broken exclamations and sounds of 
distress and, glancing at the opposite bed, saw by the flicker- 
ing light from the smouldering embers that Mr. L. was toss- 
ing restlessly on his pillow, with white, set face and clenched 
hands, and moaning and writhing like one agonized with 
pain or fear. The wife and daughter still slept; yet she saw, 
or fancied she saw, some one moving noiselessly around the 
duskiest side of the room ; and supposing her host had 
been taken suddenly ill, and fchat one of the elder girls had 
come to his aid, she hastily roused Joan that she might go 
to her assistance. But the latter, when fully awakened, act- 
ed rather strangely. She seemed more awed and grieved 
than surprised, and, instead of rising with all speed, shrank 
still closer to her friend, and refused to stir. “ Hush, hush ! ” 
she answered to all Dell’s questions and 'reproofs, ‘‘ it’s no 
use to rise — it’s just his way. Go to sleep again, for he’s 
not sick, and nobody’s up.” But for Dell, these groans said, 
“Sleep no more”; and, naturally alarmed and excited, she 
demanded, “ What ails him, then, to take on so ? What has 
happened ? Who is up ? TeU me, J oan, tell me quick, who 
is up?” 

Finding it impossible to ignore the subject, and thus ad- 
jured, poor Joan, shrinking still further beneath the covers, 
answered with bated breath : 

“ Oh, DeU, indeed no one’s up. That’s something that fol- 
lows and frights pap ; but it won’t hurt us. We often se^ 
that ! ” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


293 


“ Ridiculous ! ” cries one. “ A chapter on ‘ witches ’ a bit 
back ; and now one on ^ ghosts’ and ‘ broken hearts.’ What 
rubbish for the nineteenth century ! I never died for love. 
I never saw any ghosts nor witches.” 

Be aisy, now, Sir Critic, for so did not your chronicler 
either — no, nor find a single witch, nor see black spirit or 
white, red spirit or gray, flitting around in the gloaming. 
But we are not everybody. Many things were different in 
those days, and why not these ? Women had not grown 
strong-minded then, and most people said, ‘‘ Gentle Meta 
N. died of a broken heart, and that false Sir Karl was 
haunted.” 

But, be it as it may, one thing is certain, that whether the 
recreant lover was haunted by anything more than a guilty 
conscience or not, he firmly believed he was ; and a just 
Providence permitted this strange hallucination to become 
the torturing Nemesis that followed him from youth to age 
and hunted him to his grave. 

And here we end. Take the legend as it is, and place it 
as you will, among “ airy nothings ” and “ baseless visions,” 
it matters not ; and yet it has been rehearsed unnumbered 
times during the past century as an “ ower true story.” 

A tale of the days of old ; 

And I give it to thee 
As given to me — 

‘ A tale that was told.* 


294 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEE XXXVm. 

‘‘ This is the last of earth.” 

Changing the birds and blossoms 
Of thy mountain bowers 
For stranger songsters 
And for unknown flowers. 

Leaving the home, the friends 
Thy childhood knew, 

For unfamiliar scenes 
And faces new. 

** Bring flowers, fair flowers for the bride to wear.” 

Axl these years little Bess had remained conteDted and 
happy in Pennsylvania, the welcome guest of her grand- 
parents, who were far more indulgent to her whims, and 
lenient to her faults, than they had ever been to their own 
children’s. Indeed, the young folks sometimes thought their 
parents, especially mamma, spoiled the darling a bit. But 
she would say in apology, “ Oh, but sternness is not neces- 
sary for Bess; and she is all one as motherless too.” And 
her eyes would fill as she looked at the child, and thought 
of Eose. 

Grandpa was fond of her too, in his quiet way — answered 
all her questions, explained her lessons, and occasionally, 
when especially well pleased, treated her to a small les- 
son in his own favorite study, astronomy — seldom puzzling 
her little head at all with diagrams or letterpress, but point- 
ing her to the constellations, and teaching her from the 
glowing page of the starry heavens alone. 

Her childhood passed much as Eose’s and Elza’s had. 
She heard the same bird-songs, plucked the same wild 
fruits and flowers, climbed the same hills, explored the same 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


295 


caves, woods, and streams; knew all the olden haunts and 
mountain wilds, and loved them just as her mother had be- 
fore her, and like her, too, was early called to bid them 
adieu and see them no more forever. 

As both parties thought it best, as a general rule, that a 
family should be reared together, and parents themselves 
have the oversight of their children’s training, and the 
choosing of their pursuits and companions, the child had 
only been left behind temporarily ; but from one cause and 
another, her exit had been delayed from time to time, till 
the wee pet of two years had passed into the maiden of 
fifteen. But now, a good opportunity offering, she had 
been sent for ; all needed preparations had been made, and 
the messenger (already in the neighborhood) was daily ex- 
pected to take her away. 

Bess had all her* life been aware of her seniors’ plans, and 
had acquiesced in them as something too vague and distant 
to give her much concern ; but when the thing became cer- 
tain, and drew near, she shrank back fearfully, and her 
heart grew heavy as lead. 

Here, was her all ; home, friends, native land. There, aU 
was foreign ; place, people, — untried, unknown. Her broth- 
ers and sisters she had never seen, even her mother was a 
stranger. No wonder her heart was full. Pale, drooping, 
and spiritless, she was tidying her grandma’s room when 
she first saw the vehicle approaching that was to convey 
her to the river ; and dropping her duster, she cried : “ Oh, 
Granny, it’s coming for me, and it sounds like a hearse.” 
They parted on the morrow ; to Bess it was unutterably 
bitter, a first great grief. To her elders, it was only one 
more trial, such as they had often borne in the past ; 
one more parting for aye, as they had often parted before. 

Of all their family of eight (or of nine, including Bess), 
only Elza now remained. Naturally they desired to keep 
this last of their band with them, but true parental love 


296 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and foresight forbade the thought of indulging themselves 
at her expense. They could not expect to be with her 
many years longer ; and greatly desiring to see her perma- 
nently and happily settled while they lived, they began to 
earnestly advise marriage. 

Kowland took the same view, saying : ‘‘ As Elza seemed 
destined to be debarred from a professional career, he 
thought she should welcome the common lot, which was 
always honorable and open to all.” And thinking thus, he 
plied her with much sound logic and persuasion on the sub- 
ject, both original and selected : and once finding an old 
song to the point, enclosed that also. Elza did not much 
prize this sort of advice, even from her parents, and she 
saucily waived Rowland’s wise homihes, and laughed at his 
rhymes. And worse still, rejecting every Hne in them glo- 
rifying matrimony, and choosing only those that spoke of 
youthful joys, she strung them together, and adapting them 
to a favorite air, made her walks ring with : 

Sweet maid in youth's morn, 

With no care, and no sorrow ; 

Alone on thyself, thy enjoyments depend," etc. 

And* truly, she had very many sources of pleasure. Be- 
sides the unbounded enjoyment she found in nature, and 
in intellectual and kindred pursuits, as has been mentioned : 
she was also fond of society, and had a large acquaintance 
to indulge it in ; was a good equestrian, with a fleet horse 
at her command ; was also a tireless walker, and ahnosfc 
endless were the nice rambles, rides, and visits she took 
alone or in company. 

Certainly, her home duties were many, and onerous too : 
but she shrewdly suspected these would not be at all light- 
ened by marriage, and was more than content to let things 
abide as they were. The match-makers grew despondent, 
and gave her up as impracticable ; though they sometimes 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


29T 


quieted their fears with the old saw, “A bad match can 
not come too late ; a good one comes at the right time.” 
“ She was past twenty-five now, but possibly there might 
be some good man awaiting her yet.” But her mates, as 
they one after another left her behind, lost all faith in the 
“ coming man,” and openly laughed at her, as “ destined 
for an old maid.” . Elza retorted with spirit, “ And what if 
I am, — there are worse fates than that ; are not they a 
highly respectable class, quite as good as their neighbors ? 
And please show me, if you can, where the laugh comes 
in on us single folks. We can wed like others, and don’t 
choose to ; or else we can’t, no one wanting us ; and who 
is so base as to laugh at calamity?” And the heedless 
creature went carelessly on her way, rejoicing in her free- 
dom, neither scolding nor ridicule hun'ying her a whit. 
But in time, many things, — sometimes even a maiden’s 
mind, — wiU change. By and by, the girls began to talk of 
“ a new beau, a very superior one, in the neighborhood ; and 
at every bee, questioned if he would be there, and con- 
tended as to who should win him.” It was a young phy- 
sician who had lately arrived, and opened an office in B 

whose pleasing exterior and gentlemanly deportment com- 
mended him to aU. A public man, with his laurels all to 
win, is generally accessible, and Dr. H. was no exception, 
but went freely when called, socially as well as profession- 
ally ; everywhere a welcome guest. Like the rest, Elza was 
interested at first sight, and intimate acquaintance but 
deepened the impression that here was a friend that she 
could esteem very highly, perhaps more. During the sec- 
ond year of his stay in B , he was called away on busi- 

ness that would detain him some time ; and though he and 
Elza had scarcely talked of love, and parted rather as 
friends, yet she missed him sadly, and often^wished for his 
return. But, perhaps her regard was only friendship ; at 
all events, when, a few months later, the worthy young M.D. 

13 * 


298 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


sent an eloquent letter avowing his passion, and offering 
her his heart and hand, she could not feel free to accept 
them, hut with genuine soitow (for she was no coquette) 
returned an answer, worded as delicately as possible, declin- 
ing the honor. And yet, this, to all appearance, would have 
been a most fitting and happy union ; but for some cause it 
was not to be. 

Years before this, while Elza was busy with her studies 
at Miss Sydney’s, a young man from North D n was en- 

gaged as one of the junior assistants in an extensive busi- 
ness house of the same city. The lads and single men em- 
ployed weredodged in the house of the master, Ivan Gilbert, 
who was a kind-hearted, pleasant sort of person, but entirely 
thoughtless and worldly. Still, from pohcy or natural gen- 
erosity, he was a rather hberal supporter of the Gospel, 
though he did not love nor care to hear it, but would often 
say lightly, “ I pay for a seat, and must go, or send some one 
to fill it.” On Sabbath morning he would glance round at 
the breakfast circle with the query, Who will go to church 
to-day? Will you go, Dick? Will you. Tommy? Or you, 
Rob?” and so on. If one or more responded favorably, 
the careless master would nod and smile his thanks, and sit 
down to read the news, or take himself off for a ride or a 
walk. But if all declined, he would say resignedly, “Ah 
well, there’s no help for it then ; I must go myself.” And 
laughing and grimacing, would hurry away to dress. 

Of all his subordinates, perhaps the youth from D 

was most Gilbert’s favorite ; not that there was much simi- 
larity between the bluff, jocose senior of the firm, and the 
serious, reticent junior, but because the latter was so respect- 
ful, prompt, and diligent, and had been so apt and faithful 
a pupil that his excellent, and even elegant work had already 
brought hono» and profit to his teacher. Nor was he bound 
to one idea; but if occasion required, he could do many 
other things so well, that his acquaintances were wont to 


ROSE AND ELZ.>. 


299 


say, ^^Dauphie can do anything ; he is ‘master of his own 
trade, and Jack’ of ten more.” And then another thing 
that commended him to his master was, that oftener than 
all others, he filled that tiresome j)ew for him in Grace 
Church ; for in the midst of many temptations, young M. 
was striving to live a Christian life, and gladly availed him- 
self of the help of Divine service as a privilege, not a hardship. 

After completing his time in the city, he returned home 
to visit his parents, and those of his brothers and sisters 
who remained with, or near them ; and to inquire after 
former acquaintances, with some of whom he had been in 
close and rather comic relations. Especially did he ask 
after Tim Giles, the “venison man” (in which comedy he 
had played the part of little Jack), and of the welfare of 
Mark P., with whom he had first commenced his trade. 
Mark had been a reputable and thriving business man then, 
but subsequently became dissipated and unreliable, and his 
employes left him one by one, — 

The men found surer pay, 

And the boys ran away, 

And the house-maids wouldn’t stay.” 

Last of all, the master was arrested for debt ; and as his 
creditors believed he could, and would, pay them rather than 
remain long in durance, they did not distui-b his property, 
but committed him to prison. As he had no family of his 
own, his one faithful ally, young M., was then left entirely 
alone on the premises, to keep both house and shop as best 
he might. And so he did, for three weeks; remaining alone 
night and day ; working what he could in the shop, and 
acting as master, mistress, and maid at the house ; milking, 
sweeping, baking, etc. ; cooking for himself and for his master, 
and carrying his meals three times a day to him at the Jail. 
But at the end of that time, his father growing indignant at 
the imposition, drove into town and fetched him away. 


300 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


In process of time he emigrated to Southwestern Penn- 
sylvania, and being pleased with the country, entered busi- 
ness there. In person he was not tall, but strong and well knit ; 
with perfect health, a fair, ruddy complexion, broad, high fore- 
head, black hair, full, curling side-whiskers, and very dark 
gray eyes. Here was as good, handsome, and clever a youth 
as one often finds, and this was J. Dauphin Mead, the ap- 
pointed husband for Elza. They met first at church, and 
after an acquaintance of a year or two, no one dissenting, 
another company was assembled, another feast spread, as 
there had been for Eose and Fred ; and Elza was married. 
This was winter, but the next season they began building, 
and near where Eose first began housekeeping, a home was 
reared for Elza. It was a pretty and commodious house for 
the times, somewhat costly, too, but her father furnished 
most of the means, laid the plan, and assisted generally : 
and this was among Paul T.’s last undertakings. 

About three years after they had taken possession of their 
home, as the father was on his way to church on a Saturday 
before communion, he was taken ill, and obliged to turn 
back. This was the beginning of the end ; for though he 
lingered a long time, he thenceforward needed constant 
help and care. In these ministrations his friends were 
much aided by Teddy Malone, who had been with them 
from his fourth year, and whose warm Irish heart was knit 
to the family, and loved as a father its declining head. One 
fair September day, while yet able to walk, he desired to be 
taken out; and supported by Fred on one hand, and holding 
his staff in the other, he moved slowly to the top of the 
nearest field where it sloped gently toward the south. Here, 
where the view extended for miles, he paused, gazing over 
the familiar landscape, lost in thought. Then turning his 
dim eyes on the green knoll where he stood, and waving his 
staff over the unbroken turf at his feet, he said : “ It is time 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


301 


we should prepare our burying-place,* and I came to choose 
it to-day. Lay me here, in sight of home, where my chil- 
dren will not forget me, and where Bessie will of ttimes come 
and sit by my grave.” 

The family were much affected at this touching confi- 
dence. He had always been so unusually retiring and re- 
served, especially as to his deeper feelings, both natiural and 
religious, that they could not but think that it must be the 
weakness of age, and the nearness of approaching death 
that was melting the barriers away. 

He had been ill four years, suffering much; and often un- 
able to lie down, was obliged to sit supported by pillows for 
days and nights together. Oftenest by day, his place was 
by the south window, where he would sit for hours looking 
cahnly out on the sweet spot he had chosen for the rest of 
the worn-out body, and thinking, with humble trust, of the 
soul’s rest above. And thus reclining in his invalid’s chair, 
surrounded by his family, death found him at last. 

Through life he had sincerely, though unobtrusively, en- 
deavored to honor the Master, and serve his generation ; 
and, as was mete, he was esteemed by all, and died loved 
and lamented, at peace with God and man. 

Most characters have some salient points, and perhaps 
no traits were more noticeable in that of Paul T. than his 
strict “ bridling of his tongue,” and his absolute abhorrence 
of debt, lawlessness, and the slightest approach to dishon- 
esty. The sin and shame of the latter, especially, was early 
and deeply impressed on his children’s minds, as an instance 
or so will prove. 

Grave, thoughtful, and of sterling sense, his judgment 
was sound and unbiased on most subjects ; but silence and 


* This was very common then, and some persons had two ceme- 
teries on their farms — one for their own families, and a second for 
neighbors. 


302 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


modesty were so habitual also, that outside of his own 
family he never gave advice, and seldom even his opinion 
unasked. But when he did speak he always had listeners, 
for his remarks, though brief, were weighty and to the 
point. And, as he avoided a multitude of words on proper 
subjects, still closer he held his lips if he deemed the topic 
of doubtful propriety. He would not speak evil of digni- 
ties, nor of his brethren, or neighbors ; but loving peace 
and purity in the church and community, honored the 
rulers, civil and religious, and steadfastly refused all part in 
strife and gossip, and discouraged it in others. Few, prob- 
ably, if any, ever used the gift of speech for fourscore years 
more blamelessly, or had fewer idle, unwise, or unkind 
words to regret than he. 

The other traits may best be illustrated by two or three 
instances. When Fred was quite small, one brown October 
day, on his way from doing an eiTand, he stopped in a 
neighbor’s grove under some hickory and butternut trees; 
and, asking no questions, sat down, cracked and ate some, 
and carried three of the finest ones home. Fred was very 
well pleased with his treat, and with himself ; but his father 
was pleased with neither, as was soon apparent. Certainly 
the trespass and the trespasser were both very small; but 
one could hardly begin too early to teach a child to under- 
stand and respect the rights of others. 

Calling the boy to his knee, a few kind, pithy words 
serv^ed to show him his error, and what he must do. The 
'Wee poacher begged hard to be allowed to take the nuts 
back to the tree instead of to the house ; but Paul, desiring 
to make the lesson thorough, insisted on the latter. 

“ Surely, if you don’t pay Mr. J. for his property that you 
took, the very least that you can do is to give him back 
what you have left, and tell him about it, and thank him for 
what you have used.” 

“Yes,” Fred owned; “that did seem right.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


303 


But it was a mile oE, verging toward night, and a mighty 
unpleasant business every way ; but he went through it 
manfully. 

Mr. J. was a broad, burly, important sort of man, a 
great hunter as well as farmer, and rich ; with little educa- 
tion, but considerable humor. He looked as ugly and grim 
as Giant Despair while Fred told of trespassing on his 
grounds ; and, clutching the nuts as though they had been 
gold, frowned him from the room ; but the instant he was 
gone, tossed them on the hearth, and shook with laughter. 

“ That’s the drollest thing I’ve seen in a coon’s age. What 
a queer, square, straight-laced soul Paul T. is ! If there’d 
been a bushel or more, ’twould have been worth while to 
fetch them ; but to make the little chap trudge a whole 
mile to bring back only this quarter of a dozen, is too funny. 
It does seem powerful squeamish ; but may be it’s the best 
way, after all ; for I read of a robber once who said, with 
the rope round his neck, that his first bad step was stealin’ 
one egg when he was a’most a baby ; and his father called 
him cute and sharp, and laughed instead of pimishing him ; 
and he went fast enough from httle to more, till, at twenty- 
five, he ended at the gallows. I rather reckon that boy 
would never have been hung, or even got to jail, if Paul had 
had the raisin’ of him.” 

In business Paul greatly disliked old accounts, and strove 
to settle all, and square his books at least once a year ; but 
this was not always possible, and sometimes he had much 
vexation in trying to collect old debts ; and once at least he 
had still more trouble and worry in endeavoring to cancel 
one. He had given his note to a Mr. D. for some amount not 
remembered, which, according to a common custom of the 
times, was to be paid in trade. Soon after this- the creditor 
left the State, and when the note was due, Paul wrote to 
his address, reminding him of the fact, and telling him the 
merchandise was ready and waiting his order ; but he re- 


304 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


ceived no answer. After some delay and more writing, a 
note came from the postmaster of the place, saying that “ a 
man of the name of D. had died there, and his family had 
moved away ; but where, he did not know. Many were 
emigrating to M ; possibly they had gone there also.” 

So to M a letter was sent, directed to Mrs. D., and 

other letters were sent to different persons and places, but 
all resulted alike in disappointment. 

Nothing more was heard of them for several years, when 
at length a letter from Rowland, dated Bairdstown, Ky., 
March 25, 1800, informed his father that while stopping in 
that towm he believed he had at last discovered some traces 
of the lost family. 

This was good news to Paul, who, hoping now to soon be 
relieved, wrote back that if the fugitives were found, and 
preferred it, he would pay them in money, which would 
close the business up sooner. But further inquiry proved 
that the D.’s of Ken. were a different family, and no 
clue to the locality of those sought for could be found. 

“ Owe no man anything,” had been a golden motto with 
Paul, and this unpaid and seemingly unpayable bill was a 
real cross to him, and none the lighter that his creditors 
were the widow and the fatherless. A w'orry while in health, 
it preyed still more on his mind when sick and old. But, 
knowing that he was blameless, and could now do nothing 
more, he at lengih consented to resign this * and all other 


Once, while on a visit to L , a friend of this family sat down 

one day, and proceeded, in company with a kindred soul, to pore for 
hours over great packages of letters, yellow, faded, and worn with 
age, some of them dating hack seventy years. Among these records 
of the past were several letters relating to this troublesome affair ; and 
in one from Fred to Rowland, speaking of their father's death and 
wishes, he says : ‘‘The D. business, so often mentioned in our corre- 
spondence, still remains as it was ; but I am bound by a solemn 
promise to the dead not to forget it, but to find those heirs if possible. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


305 


business into Fred’s hands, and endeavor to dismiss it from 
his thoughts. 

His mind remained clear to the last, but at times his 
speech was much affected, and it was after this was im- 
paired that he one day seemed very restless, and in his bro- 
ken way kept repeating some sentence over and over. Not 
much could be understood, but all agreed that “ account ” 
and ‘‘ Eoy ” were two of the words. After many efforts to 
catch his meaning, some one suggested day-book, and no 
sooner was it laid on his knee than his eye brightened, and, 
quickly turning to an R page, he glanced over it, and passed 
it to Fred with the words pay, pay'' Oh, yes, here was 
the trouble. In this account there was a slight balance due 
Eoy, which, having just occurred to his own mind, he had 
been attempting to bring to theirs also, that it might be 
paid at once. And (the D. note excepted) this bill of one 
dollar was his only debt, and the cancelling of it his last 
earthly business. 


and settle their claim.’* We may not endorse the sentiment, ‘‘An 
honest man’s the noblest work of God,” for honesty is not religion, 
though there can be no true religion without it. And yet this ster- 
ling integrity and other old-fashioned virtues of Paul are refreshing, 
reminding one of various touches in an ancient description of a good 
man, “who sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not — speaketh 
the truth, .... doeth no evil to his neighbor, considereth the poor, 
.... contemneth a vile person, .... honoreth them that fear the 
Lord, and, trusting in God at all times, walketh uprightly and work- 
eth righteousness.” 


B06 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEK XXXIX. 

Don’t expect old heads on young shoulders.” 

Mr. B. was always fond of seeing some innocent amusement go- 
ing forward And, as some men admire the colors of a tulip 

or the wings of a butterfly, so I was by nature an admirer of happy 
human faces.” 

Grave, matter-of-fact folks had sometimes called Elza T. 
a ‘^day dreamer”; and truly she had reared and revelled 
in many a fine air-castle. But all this did not prevent her 
taking excellent care of the real house and its duties when 
they came. No floors were whiter or more nicely sanded 
than hers, no meals were more appetizing, no husband’s 
buttons and hose better looked after. An excellent seam- 
stress, she also cut out and did her own sewing, which was 
very uncommon then; besides considerable fine needlework, 
w^hich art she had learned early, and now turned to good 
account. 

When she and Bose were girls of about eight and 
eleven, their mamma said to a guest who embroidered well, 

“ The children would learn that directly. Miss A. See how 
they watch every motion.” 

‘‘ Then I will show them the stitches if they will each 
bring a bit of dark cloth,” she responded. 

They gladly obeyed, and that afternoon’s lesson they re- 
membered and practiced so much that when, not long after, 
mamma gave each of them a new linen short-gown, she 
said : And you may try if you can work borders around 
them — it will be good practice for you.” O 

They were dehghted with the offer, and ready to begin 
at once; and that each might exercise her own taste and 
skin freely, they agreed to work apart, each designing and 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


B07 


executing her ovm pattern as she thought best, without help 
from the other, or any one else ; and as soon as the terms 
of the contest were fixed upon, out they went. Elza’s place 
was a breezy, grassy seat in the orchard, beyond the house, 
where she stitched and sang all alone ; while Kose, as was 
her wont, hovered near the Bedstone, generally sitting un- 
der a pine on the mossy bank, with its waters almost lairing 
her feet. 

Bessie was by no means a weak, vain mother, nor at all 
given to spoiling her bairns with over-much praise or indul- 
gence ; yet when this work was finished and displayed to 
her, she was surprised, and could not but say, “ that on the 
whole they had done themselves much credit.” And though 
her girls never became competent (as some one says) “ to 
portray history or landscape on canvas,” yet, when grown, 
they were able to embroider their own mvislins nicely, and 
some for their friends also. Elza had one white gown 
worked so elegantly that it was admired by all ; and after 
her marriage she often exchanged tasks with one and an- 
other who desired something similar, and were glad to at-- 
tend to her house duties while she embroidered for them. 
This was not only a grateful change to Elza, of heavier work 
for lighter, but the latter was to her positive rest and pleas- 
ure. And when a little leisure offei^ed, she sometimes filled 
cash orders also. 

But by and by a rival came — a fashionable, pretentious 
kind of a lady, who set up the trade regularly, and, as w^as 
natural, stole away two, three, or more of Elza’s patrons. 
Mrs. Q.’s style was new, heavy, and showy, more pleasing 
to some than Elza’s delicate, satin-smooth vines and slight, 
fairy sprays — but not to all, by any means. 

Stout, shrewd Mrs. Stull, the washerwoman who had 

worked for many fine ladies in old V , and always said 

her say, boldly pronounced the new madam’s work (w^hen 
she came to laundry it) ‘‘ugly and coarse and rough as a 


308 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


double coverlet ” (with still stronger adjectives, too). A great 
exaggeration certainly was this, and yet it was not wholly 
untrue ; and certain it is, that some who had deserted Elza 
for Mrs. Q., before long deserted again, leaving IVIrs. Q. for 
Elza. 

As wedding tours were not then in vogue, or long pleas- 
ure trips of any kind practicable (at least for a lady), the 

young couple took no trip to North D at the time of 

their bridal. And when, years after, they had made ready, 
and were about to attempt the journey, Elza was providen- 
tially detained, and Mr. M. then, and several other times while 
his parents Hved, made the home journey alone. But though 
no fitting occasion ever offered for her to visit her husband's 
friends, she did not remain wholly unacquainted with them ; 
many well-written, kind and interesting letters came from 

D , and various presents and keepsakes were exchanged; 

and more than all, three of the brothers came (at different 
times, though) and spent several weeks with them. And from 
these representatives of it, she and her friends could not 
but form a very favorable opinion of the family, for three 
finer, more sensible, intelligent young men could scarcely 
be found than Warren, Danly, and Robert Mead. WaiTen 
was the eldest of the sons (there were five in all), and made 
the first visit. The Revolutionary war was not very long 
past then, so that strong feeling still existed against Eng- 
land, fanned, too, by many later wrongs and rumors. And 
as Warren’s father was an unnaturalized Enghshman, and 
himself a subject of one of her provinces, Ered, as usual, 
must have his jest ; raising honest, hot-headed Teddy’s loy- 
alty still higher, by hinting that the polished guest ‘‘ might 
be a spy,” and solemnly proposing that “ they two should 
sally out some night and serve their Government by taking 
the gay Britisher prisoner.” 

While all the brothers were prepossessing, Warren and 
Danly were somewhat cool and reserved in manner ; but 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


309 


Robert was as frank and merry as he was handsome, and 
loved by all. 

Dauphin, after his marriage, having farm-work as well as 
shop to look after, got help, as others did, by making many 
bees; but only two of these vdll be mentioned, one of which 
(a husking) occurred during Robert’s visit. There was 
much sport at these old-time huskings held on the cool, 
still, moonlit October nights, making them less like work 
than play. The great heaps of corn were equally divided ; 
officers elected ; men chosen, as for a game of ball, and 
then came the contest. Leaders, brisk and alert, watched 
their respective ranks keenly, hurrying, rating, or praising, as 
the case demanded. The men responding with loud huz- 
zas, — ‘‘Hurrah, Captain, hurrah for our side! We’re the 
boys to win. Hurrah I hurrah I ” And labor and laughter, 
jest and jeers, all mingled together a joyous din, till the 
task was finished, and one party or the other defeated. 
Then came the ringing cheers of the victors, the shouting 
for the captain, the hfting him aloft, and bearing him in a 
triumphal procession of his allies, to receive the smiles of 
the ladies, and fill the seat of honor at the waiting banquet. 

Simple, primitive times were these, when many willing 
hands and hght hearts made toil but pleasure, and neigh- 
borship meant more than it does now. Yet there was one 
thing that often marred the pleasure of these happy, home- 
ly gatherings, and that was liquor. These were the days 
Avhen that abomination was as a beverage always present, and 
presented to all ; and good and prudent people were usually 
more or less in dread, lest some weak or careless ones should 
imbibe too much, thus injuring themselves and disgracing 
the company. Mr. Mead and wife were among the strictest 
of entertainers ; for while they provided the best of viands 
liberally, with abundance of milk and (what was not then 
common) tea and coffee also, the fiery drink was stinted as 
much as possible ; their firm resolution being that no man 


310 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


should ever become intoxicated through their means, or re- 
turn from their home to his own less decent and sensible 
than he came. 

On the night- in question there was little drinking, and 
all w^as going on nicely without and within. The corn was 
well-nigh finished, and supper was nearly ready. Besides 
the neighbors in general, two or three of Elza’s most partic- 
ular friends were there as company and assistants for her : 
and she could not but think (and not without a touch of 
pride) how well everything was succeeding, and, moreover, 

how many good folks would meet that paragon from D 

“ My husband’s brother.” 

It was half an hour or so before tea-time, when a shuf- 
fling, uncertain step sounded on the sward ; a clumsy, fum- 
bhng hand slowly raised the latch, and a man entered un- 
bidden — a drunken man — and that man was Eobert. 

To Elza’s disgusted, withering glance and startled excla- 
mation, his only answer was a silly, maudlin chuckle; and 
reeling across the kitchen, he sank heavily into a seat, and 
presently lower still — to the floor. Elza’s feelings were in a 
tempest of commotion. What did this mean? What could 
she do? Where could she hide him?” she asked herself 
wdth lightning swiftness. And as swiftly, back the an- 
swer came, “ Nothing can be done ; nothing concealed.” 
The huskers had seen his condition when he left them; the 
friends had seen it when he entered the house. Known to 
this company to-night, it would be »known to more to-mor- 
row. Yes, a common talk, a public scandal, and how could 
she bear it? Astonished, grieved, and humiliated, she 
shrank apart, contending and condohng with her various 
emotions ; and while she thus consulted with herself how 
best these could be healed, hidden, or controlled, her friends 
consulted together over Eobert. 

One suggested a cup of tea,” another that his head be 
raised,” etc. Slowly, and with doubtful grace, Elza joined 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


311 


the caucus too, gave the tea-caddy to one, and herself 
fetched pillow and pallet ; while shame, anger, XDity, disgust, 
all mingled in her face as she bent down, and with dubious 
fondness, raised the fair, dishonored head. The gingerly 
touch, the woful, fourfold expression, were too much for 
the patient’s already strained risibles. Bursting into an un- 
controllable peal of laughter, he bounded from the floor 
like a ball, bowed his thanks and adieus, and dashed out 
and away to join the huskers, leaving the bewildered nurses 
gazing at each other across the empty bed. It was all a 
hoax ; nothing but a naughty hoax ! Having, all through his 
visit, observed his new sister’s intense contempt and hatred 
of drunkenness, he had planned this ruse to prove and tease 
her. But Elza was so relieved to find that he had only 
been joking, not drinking, that it mattered little that she 
had been made the butt of his jest. In fact, all the victims 
acted with great generosity, for when a little later the rogue 
came in with the rest to supper, looking so gay and exultant, 
brimming over with mirth and mischief ; and favoring his 
late attendants with many an arch glance and smile ; what 
could they do but smile responsively, and receive the wag- 
gish madcap back to favor. 

At the time of Eobert’s visit there were two little girls 
in his brother’s house for him to pet and spoil ; and as the 
years passed, others were added, and sons also, to fill the 
house with the care and joy a family brings. Neither of 
the parents had ever been much accustomed to children, 
and were often surprised at their endless whims and fancies, 
and burdened with the responsibility, especially when after 
all their care in training, so much of the old Adam would 
still crop out. Lotta, the eldest, was a great little chatter- 
box, and also a great worker ; and though somewhat timid 
and compromising, was very affectionate, thoughtful, and 
womanly. From her cradle almost she aimed to be mam- 
ma’s companion and assistant, and when she had, as she 


312 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


thought, lightened all her tasks, was always ready to lend 
a hand to papa also. Seizing one of his cast-off tools and 
a board, she would shave away with might and main, ex- 
plaining to aU inquirers : “ Tse helpin’ papa plane. Me’s 
workin’ to get a d’ess and ap’on for sissy.” This second 
child, Flo, was not so thoroughly devoted to her parents’ 
interest, nor so given to either talking or working, as to 
play and mischief. Frank and brave, she usually said her 
say at all times, and blurted out the truth at whatever cost ; 
but once, when just able to talk, she told a falsehood to 
hide a fault, — ^quite shocking mamma with her infantile de- 
pravity, till she remembered who had said, “ They go astray 
as soon as they be born, speaking lies”; and also sundry 
other texts, about the virtues of the rod ; which was at 
once gently but firmly applied, for, young as she was, this 
was not a sin of ignorance. 

But perhaps Flo’s greatest forte, as soon as she could 
walk alone, lay in getting lost. Dense woods and thickets 
were then still to be seen on every side, and the little crea- 
ture was so nimble and fearless, and so constantly strolling 
away, that for safe keeping she was often tethered by the 
door, or in the yard, like any other little wild animal. 

After several wee penances, and numerous tyings, she 
was one day released awhile on parole. There was much 
company there taking supper, and Flo recognizing Fred 
among them, sidled up to him, and asked for “a piece.” 
Placing it in her hand, he added the common phrasCj 

Now run away, sis,” and taking him at his word, away 
she ran. 

Fred, busy carving the goose, and debating some ques- 
tion with his next neighbor, thought no more about it ; and 
it was not tiU all were gone but he, and the night near, that 
she was missed. Then all were alarmed, and ran out in 
different directions ; searching springs and pools first, and 
shouting her name. Elza ran to a place where she had 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


313 


stra3^ed more than once before, calling and searching with 
anxious heart ; but there was neither sight nor sound 
of her there. At length, on a wooded hillside, a fourth of 
a mile or more from home, she spied the little red bundle 
lying on a heap of new-made rails. Her slip was smeared 
with clay and berries, and rent with briers ; her tender feet 
scratched, bruised, and bristling with the tiny spikes from 
chestnut burrs ; her hair on end, her face stained with 
tears ; there she lay, “ tattered and torn,” and fast asleep. 
And a poor forlorn “ babe of the wood ” she looked, to be 
sure. She had exhausted all her little strength, and cried 
herself to sleep, and at Elza’s touch wakened with a start and 
a sob, and reaching out her little arms, cried piteously : 
“ Mamma shall take me home ! ” On reaching there, and 
being duly cuddled and kissed by all, when mamma asked, 
“ why her baby had been so naughty as to disobey again ? ” 
the small elf was ready with her defence — quickly laying 
the blame on her uncle. “ Fred did give me piece,” she 
lisped, “ and did tole me ‘now run away,’” and Mr. Fred 
being called to the stand and confirming the evidence, the 
case was dismissed. 

Bessie T. loved old family names, and Paul agreeing with 
her, all their children had been named for kinsfolk. The 
first two for her only brother and sister ; * the third for Paul’s 
father ; the fourth for his mother ; and these two dying in 
infancy, the same names had been given to a later son and 
daughter. Kindred had been equally honored in the chris- 
tening of Fred and Elza, and as was natural, she wished this 
good old mle observed by her children. But this was not 
always done. Elza named their first for some heroine, 
Adalotta, and Mr. Mead called the second Florette, for a 

French lady he had known in A . Grandma submitted 

to these, but when another new name was suggested for the 
third babe, lost patience, and said severely: “Elza, you 
have but one sister oh earth ; try and show some love for 
14 


314 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


that one, by giving this child her name.” So this was 
called for Kose, and through the same influence, three of 
the five children that followed, received family names. 

The Meads had set out with various rules for the regula- 
tion of their household, several of which related to their 
children. These, of course, Avere to be models ; with no 
such things as disobedience or bickering known, and mis- 
chief scarcely named among them. But as these young folks 
came, one after another, each with a tongue and temper of 
its own, things would sometimes go awry, wills conflict, and 
blood arise. At rare intervals it even rose so high that the 
larger ones gave smart slaps and pinches to the juniors, 
and the younger ones sprang to arms, ready to repay the 
insult, and with interest too. But this was not common, 
and as all quarrelling was strictly forbidden, and all partici- 
pants in it hable to condign punishment, these little feuds 
seldom reached parental ears, but oftener the very sight of 
their sire, or the sound of his step, served to quell such ju- 
venile riots and disperse the mob peaceably. Occasionally 
the whole body, or a squad of them, fell into other mischief 
too, such as a raid on the maple and loaf-sugar chest, or on 
the preserves closet, when jars of sweetmeats, and sweet 
cream too, suffered loss ; and (when discovered) the felons 
did not escape scot free. 

Once, when left alone a long, summer day, among other 
sports, they fell on a fine, young fruit tree, not with the im- 
moiial “ hatchet,” but with their weight, making (in child- 
ish parlance) a “ ridy-hos ” of it ; and mounting, one behind 
the other, rode fast and long, till the poor thing sank under 
them to the ground, where it lay, and lived, to shame their 
childish folly for sixty years after. 

On a waim, moonless night, the ]3arents returning from an 
evening visit late, instead of finding their house wrapped in 
midnight darkness, were startled to see it aglow with light ; 
a strange, weird light, from no visible source, as there was 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


315 


neither fire nor candle. Had the witches held a meeting in 
their absence, or the fairy folk a revel, and left their invisi- 
ble lamps ? Oh, no ! it was only some more of those young- 
sters’ work. They had been playing with what country 
^people call fox-fire, and after strewing the house high and 
low with it, and admiring the effect, had retired, pleasing 
themselves with the hope of its giving their elders a pretty 
surprise, or better still, a little fright. 

Nor were they disappointed ; it did give a bit of both, 
and was quite a pleasant sight that night — but just as un- 
pleasant a one next morning, when, with all hght and beauty 
dead, it appeared but decaying wood ; the damp, mouldering, 
crumbhng chips a most unsightly htter, that took the spright- 
ly illuminators an hour to sweep up, dust, and thoroughly 
clear away. 

Max, the third boy, was a bright, funny rogue, very 
active, and always obhgingly ready to add his mite of mis- 
chief to the general stock, or equally capable of manag- 
ing small affairs himself. 

When some three years old, he fell heir to a tiny garden- 
hoe, and marched round with it, digging continually, in the 
ash corner, on the sanded floor, almost anywhere. After 
being repeatedly interrupted, and routed from his work in- 
doors, he went out carrying the ‘‘little dig” (as another 
baby called it) along. Sauntering around, he came to a row 
of milk crocks standing upside down on the grass, and sit- 
ting down beside a nice, red cream jar, he began softly 
pecking at it with his hoe. And there he ^t and picked and 
pecked away, till, with long pains and patience, he had made 
a neat round hole through the bottom the size of an Enghsh 
penny. When Elza saw this bit of work, she felt like cuff- 
ing the workman’s ears, but thought it might perhaps be 
wiser to reason, question, and, if possible, discover his mo- 
tives. After some reproof, she added : “ Now, Max, what is 
it makes you spoil my things so ? What made you so bad 


316 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


as to Spoil this crock ? Tell me, now, what you did it for, 
and I won’t whip you this time.” And he, looking ruefully 
at the ruined jar, and then at her, could only stammer : 

’Cause, mamma, ’cause I did want to, so bad.” 

When the young master donned his first boy’s suit, shin- 
ing in blue facings and brass buttons, the house could not 
contain him, nor even the ground, as, after some search, he was 
found airing his new attire on the roof of an adjacent build- 
ing, perched proudly astride the comb. Mamma could not tell 
how ever he had gotten there, and watched him admiringly, 
but uneasily; for though the height was not so very great, 
it was enough to make a fall dangerous. But when tired of 
his lofty seat, the aspiiing youth crept fearlessly along the 
roof, grasped the logs with hands and feet^ and scrambled 
down as safely and almost as nimbly as a cat. 

By and by he went out with another urchin to play in a 
shed, where, among the hay, they soon espied a hen’s nest. 
First they only looked at the fresh, white eggs; then touched, 
then took out as playthings ; and finally, growing bolder 
and bolder. Max thought it would be kind o’ nice to hear 
them crash and see the inside, and sagely proposed to the 
other midge that ‘^each should bust half.” And so they 
did and threw them away ; and just at that critical moment 
Mattie rushed on the stage, hunting eggs for dinner. Her 
wise gray eyes caught all at a glance, and voting herseK 
watch, witness, plaintiff, aU in one^ she seized the culprits 
and hurried them off to trial. But this once the bill was 
ignored. * 

It was impossible for Max to be idle or still ; but at times 
he did, as he supposed, try to make himself useful instead 
of destructive. For instance, when his first jackknife came, 
he whitled, cut, and scored incessantly, 'and had carved sev- 
eral ornate curves on the clock-case, and many elegant scal- 
lops on the best dining-table and other articles, before mam- 
ma had observed what direction his energies had taken. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


317 


Some time after this, on a winter’s night, as all surround- 
ed the fire. Max sat meeldy in a darkish corner almost be- 
hind the jamb, and near a good kinswoman who was read- 
ing aloud, and quietly busied his precious fingers in surrep- 
titiously attaching a large, uncouth black reticule to her 
apron-strings. When his unsuspecting neighbor arose, this 
graceful appendage waved gallantly to and fro as she 
walked, of course setting all the children in a titter. 

This trick called forth a very sharp reprimand from 
both parents, and would have been followed by something 
sharper and warmer still, had the slyboots not have had an 
indulgent friend in the victim herself. 

One day, when his father was absent. Max thought proper 
to assume the paternal boots, and, without consulting any 
one, obtained them privately and mounted them on top of 
his own as a kind of overalls. Thus equipped, he felt as 
bold and important as a new militia captain, and paraded 
out to plunge throug*h the adjacent snow-banks and paddle 
in all the mud and water around — the deeper the better. 
But after a while the new dignity began to grow heavy, 
and, as most of the drifts, quags, and puddles had been 
fathomed, and all the more pressing duties finished, he re- 
solved to lay it down ; but down it would not go. Into the 
boots, soft and clean, he had gotten easily enough, but out 
of them, bemired and frozen, he could not get at all. In 
vain he sought to remove them with the jack, and in other 
manly ways. They would not move. Then he tried with 
his’liands, tried with his feet, and pulled and tugged and 
scraped and kicked ; but there they stuck, all plans and 
efforts failing. And Max now began to remember uneasily 
that pa would soon be home — knew, too, by past trials, 
that he had small patience with saucy meddlers, and now 
knew also that he had a very small foot, for his neat num- 
ber sevens clasped and clung to him tighter than the “ Old 
Man of the Sea,” and, struggle as he might to cast them. 


318 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


they woTild not off. When strength and wit were both 
spent, he humbled his pride and carried his burden to ma. 
And then mamma pulled and failed, and the girls pulled 
and failed ; and then all tried their unskilled hands again, 
tugging harder and giving more extra twists and turns, 
till Max yelled that they “ was puUin him a-pieces.” And it 
did almost seem a question which would give way first, legs 
or leather. 

But happily, without serious wreck of either bones or 
boots, the latter were at last drawn, and Max was soundly 
rated for causing fright and trouble — charged on pain of 
the birch to touch them no more, and for the thousandth 
time cautioned to be still, and keep out of mischief. 

Capable and energetic as Max was himself, he was gener- 
ally ready to foUow also, if the leader was a bold go-ahead ; 
and such a one he had in his sister Nellie, who was his 
special mate, and the acknowledged chief and oracle of the 
younger ones. For Nellie was not only daring, but learned, 
travelled, knew the world, and what not. She had been 
several times to the hamlet, and once as far as the next 
town, where she had seen wonders — so many houses close 
together, so many folks dressed up in their Sunday clothes, 
so many stores and shops and bakeries ; what heaps on 
heaps of finery and goodies there was of every kind! 
She rather ’spected .that, like as not, in that town every 
child in the world might buy all the pretty things it need- 
ed forever, and cakes enough for all its dinners. 

In some shops whole windows were filled with strands of 
beads, ‘‘ colored Hke rainbows,” only nicer; and dolls and 
toys in wax, in china, in wood. One inimitable group con- 
tained “ three chubby, fat, spotted china pups and their ma, 
that a fat china boy was feeding with china mush and 
milk.” 

At one house there was a real parrot as green as grass, 
save one dash of red, that “ spread its wings at her, and 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


319 


squawked and bit, as cross as a hatching hen, if she touched 
it but when let alone it stepped daintily on to her hand, 
and kissed her with its hooked bill. ‘‘ It ought to have 
talked some, too,” she admitted, ‘‘ but it couldn't, or 
wouldn’t.” 

And Nell, too, had had more sickness, adventures, and 
mishaps than all the rest combined. An accident that had 
frightened every mother around happened her while but a 
babe ; and later she had been bitten by a dog, thrown from 
a sleigh, flung from a horse (while stealing a ride in the 
field), chased by a maniac, kicked by a cow, scared by a 
wildcat, battered by a sheep, and nobody knows what all 
more. Then she was a famous finder, a born detective, and 
articles lost indoors or out, did not long elude her ; and sloes, 
services, haws, nuts, grapes, berries, everything — the wild- 
est wild fruit or flowers, however draped in leaves or bmied 
in vines or bracken, could seldom hang so high, or hide so 
low, but her quick eyes descried them. 

In nest-hunting, too, she was unequalled. There was no 
use in turkey, duck, guinea, goose, or any other fowl on the 
farm, attempting to conceal its treasure from her, for she 
could out-general the best of them. And as for the birds, 
they scarcely knew their own nests, or the number and color 
of their eggs, better than she. 

And she could jump and race, and climb and coast brave- 
ly, and ride and skate and row ; and when all tired of act- 
ive sports, she could give readings in anything from 
the New England primer to Pilgrim’s Progress, with orig- 
inal notes thrown in ; and intensely original they were 
too. 

And then she was called pretty also, after this style : tall 
for her age ; a supple, slender form, straight as an arrow ; a 
neat foot and ankle ; a complexion delicately fine and fair ; 
forehead small, with dark, arched brows ; nose rather longish 
and pert ; mouth red and small ; light, but keen blue eyes ; 


320 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and a wealth of wavy nut-brown hair.* With all these 
advantages and accomphshments, she ought to have been 
the juveniles’ heroine, — and she was. 

Nell disdained lies, great and small ; yet, herself told 
some things that sounded marvellously like them. Still 
charity could scarcely deem her a fibster, as she did not 
mean to deceive, but really believed herself, what she told 
to others ; but how, or whence, she gleaned her singular 
facts, or fancies, none of her hearers ever knew. One of 
these items was, that a certain crook of the thumb would 
quickly quell a mad dog ; and as this bit of digital skill 
might be needed any day, she prudently and humanly be- 
gan to drill them in it ; nor ceased till every little pupil 
could make the requisite twist. She also gave some hints 
and cautions concerning an evil creature she termed a 
Black Bull-bagger, that lurked in very dark places. But of 
this monster her own knowledge seemed but vague, and she 
taught no sort of plan to escape it but flight. 

A sleigh, sky-blue without, and pink within; fine in its 
day, but now considerably worn, warped, and weather- 
beaten, stood in an adjoining shed ; and when playing 
round it, or in it, Nell would sometimes pause, reverently 
point out the marks on it, of wind and wave, and in a 
hushed voice relate how ages since, in that frail craft, 
“ papa had crossed the sea ” ! 

Another most deliciously thrilling mystery was the 
‘‘ Guynnay House.” Of this, NeU often and solemnly bade 
them as they valued safety to beware. They must not 
touch it, — must not approach it. ^^If touched but by a 

* ^. e., Dark brown beneath ; but bleached lighter on the surface, 
by running so much in the sun bareheaded, — like a bit of a tom-boy, 
mamma said. In many points, personal and mental, Nellie closely 
resembled her Aunt Rose ; and friends often regretted that she had 
not borne her name, instead of her sister, who was very unlike her in 
looks, and most ways. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


321 


finger it would instantly fall to the ground.” But by whom 
this remarkable structure was reared, when, where, why ? — 
on these unessential points the Sibyl revealed nothing, prob- 
ably was not clear herself. These, with many others, 
were the sayings of Nell, and her followers, like wise chil- 
dren, treasured them up. Many a time they mused on 
papa’s ocean voyage ; and gazed with loving awe, on the 
Old Blue Sleigh. Diligently, they used eye, thumbs, and 
heels, and happily were never bitten by mad dogs, nor de- 
voured by bull-baggars, and in all their walks not one of 
them was ever slain by the fall of the Guynnay House,” 
nor did they ever even come dangerously near that fatal 
building. 

But Nell did not confine herself or them to such intangi- 
ble things, but led the way into some real scrapes that 
showed a taste for something more solid than fables. On a 
bright June morning, when roses were in bloom, and green 
peas in their prime, the children had gathered a basketful 
of the latter, and sat under the lilac shelling them : and 
gradually their chat changed from the charm of birds and 
dowsers, to the more material charms of the good dinner 
they were assisting to prepare ; for of these same marrow- 
fats, they were most extravagantly fond. Next, they began 
complaining what a time first tables did eat, and talk, keep- 
ing the young ones waiting so long ; and they murmured 
on, tiU Nell mutinied outright, and boldly proposed that as 
they had a’most gotten the dinner, they would for “ once in 
their lives be first table themselves ; answering the sur- 
prised looks and incredulous exclamations that greeted her, 
by going on to explain : that “ course she didn’t mean 
they’d take the big people’s table, but they’d eat first, for 
all that ; and only just what they wanted, too. Big folks 
might eat something else ; but for once, they three would 
eat peas, — only peas.” And Nell kept her word ; for near 
noon, w^hen dinner was almost ready, she whisked in while 
14 * 


322 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


the cook was out ; catpured a lot of the peas, some spoons, 
etc., and escaped unchallenged. 

Then rejoicing in their sharpness and success, away they 
ran to the play-place, to feast, laugh, and be merry. NeU 
had been charged to bring a “ big dish,” and she did ; but 
it was rich with cream and butter, and good as it was, much 
less sufficed than they had supposed ; and so it fell out, to 
their profound surprise, that though a third still remained, 
appetites began to fail. Said one little pig, “I’m most 
done, I can’t eat all my peas.” And next little pig said, 
“ So ’m I ; I can’t eat mine nuther.” “ Oh,” cried one pres- 
ently, ‘^ril give somebody a cent to finish mine.” And 
another, “ I’ll give ’em two, if they’ll help me.” And then 
all broke into a hubbub of jests and laughter at the pickle 
they were in, making no end of sport of each other, them- 
selves, and the stolen feast. Then partially checking their 
mirth, they began to soberly consult for the public good, 
the common weal ; for their selfish villainy had furnished 
them a dilemma with several horns, but none desirable. 
Fii'st, what was to be done with the peas ? To eat them 
was impossible. To throw away aught so good, a sin ; 
to return them to the house, instant exposure and dis- 
grace, at least ; to conceal tiU hungry — risky. 

Above all, what could they do for present appetites when 
summoned to the table ? Possibly they might relish a bit of 
cherry pie, but whatever would they do, if asked to eat 
more peas? 

And now, “ Chibdren, chil-dren,” fell in lengthened cadence 
on the mid-day air. It was mamma’s voice calling her hun- 
gry darlings to dinner. There was no alternative — go they 
must, so slowly, ashamed, afraid, they filed in and sat down; 
and sure enough, the first thing they saw was another boun- 
tiful dish of peas ! Not daring to glance at each other, lest 
they should explode with laughter, all bent low over their 
plates, toyed with their spoons, picked at a crust, and wished 


• ROSE AND ELZA. 


323 


themselves miles away. But luckily for the little scamps, 
mamma went out directly after they entered, and the girls, 
very busy with their own affairs, took too little notice of the 
make-believe dining to call them to account. So, for this 
time they escaped better than they deserved, though on 
some other occasions they were detected and punished im- 
mediately. 

When housekeeping, they had real viands at times ; but 
oftener served such delicacies as blue-clay bread, mud pies, 
herb tea, etc. 

One day, when dining under a tree beside the creek. Max 
was wishing they could exchange the tea for maple sap; but 
as it was October instead of March, Nell snuffed this hope 
out instanter, but added wisely : 

“ I ’spect we might make drinks as good as that, if we’d 
sugar.” 

‘‘Let’s make it right away then,” cried Max, eagerly ; 
“ there’s plenty in the chest.” 

And then both hesitated. Neither cared about going to 
the house and venturing up-stairs after it, nor yet to ask the 
big sister for it. 

“ It ain’t theirn, and mamma’s not at home,” said Max, 
reassuringly. 

“ No,” said Nell, “ but for all that, they’ll not let us have 
a bit to muss with, I know’.” 

Then a new thought struck her: they would send Susie. 
She was so little and light, she could go anywhere safely, they 
guessed. So giving her a large tin cup and ample cautions 
and directions, off she went ; found the stores easily enough, 
ate all she wanted, spilled considerable over the floor, and 
bore a third part away in triumph. The impatient brewers 
were waiting and ready, with several other cups and mugs, 
into which they dipped the sugar '\^th a liberal hand ; 
poured on water, stirred, tasted, and changed, and tasted 
again ; but after all, the result scarcely pleased them. True, 


324 


ROSE AND ELZA. * 


the beverage wasn’t bad exactly, but it wasn’t so superla- 
tively good either. And after drinking all they could, there 
was still quite a quantity left, that must be put some place 
speedily, for the vessels that held it would soon be missed 
in the kitchen. While they stood contriving where they 
could empty and hide it till next day, steps were heard, and 
before they could conceal it or themselves, Kose’s black 
eyes were peering curiously and suspiciously at them, and 
their manifold cups and cruses. Confused and alarmed at 
her most untimely call, and uncomfortable questions, they 
vouched her no explanation. But Kose had noticed the dis- 
order up-stairs too, and putting this and that together, 
worked up a pretty strong case against them. Mamma re- 
turned the same evening, and immediately after tea they 
were cited to appear, charged with felony and waste, proved 
guilty, and called to repentance and penance too. The crim- 
inals had half beheved this experiment a failure before, and 
they were certain of it now, for their “ stolen waters ” had 
not proved so very “sweet” after aU. Yet this unpleasant 
experience had a salutary effect, as it seiwed to keep them 
at harmless pursuits for some time. Max wrought busily 
with his cart and tools constructing sand ovens, dams, tilt- 
hammers, and other internal improvements ; and the girls 
sometimes helped him, or played quietly by themselves. 

Among country children then, imported toys were rare and 
costly; but their home-made ones answered every purpose. 
Once having promised a pair of dolls, Elza (rather than break 
her word) sat up till the “ sma’ hours ” dressing and paint- 
ing them, and then pinned them on the curtain at the foot 
of their owners’ bed, where the gay, blue-eyed puppets 
greeted their first waking glance. Nell cared little for dolls 
herself, but often worked for Susie’s, who was a devoted 
mother to them, ai^ was also extremely fond of live babies 
too. When scarcely able to lisp her first question to lady 
visitors was of these. “Sm’is” (she always omitted the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


325 


Mrs.), “Sm’is, has ’oo got a baby? J-onse vy don’t ’oo 
b’ing along you baby?” etc. When any of the family 
visited, she always stipulated that they were to ask for the 
host’s baby. When mamma and Florette were preparing to 
visit the C.’s, as these were special friends, she was more ur- 
gent than ever with her usual charge, and told them over 
and over what to tell Mrs. C. about her babe (who, by the 
way, was a stout lad of fifteen). Yes, yes,” said ma, “ I’ll 
tell her ; I’ll ask for it ; now run out and play.” 

She went, carrying a small coin with her that she had. 
lately received ; and presently glancing from the window, 
Elza saw her sitting on the fiowery bank of the rill with her 
skii-t full of leaves and grasses that she was dropping one by 
one into the stream, and singing softly to herself as she 
watched the current bearing them swiftly and silently away. 
A pretty picture, she thought. But when she came out a ht- 
tle later the scene had changed, for Sue was crouching on 
the ground, with her face hidden, crying bitterly. They 
were in haste, for it was a long ride ; but Elza was far too 
kind a mother to leave her little one without knowing and 
soothing her trouble, and after some coaxing, she disclosed 
the secret. The late gift was lost, “All swimmed away,” 
she sobbed, with a fresh flood of tears. “No, no,” said 
mamma, brightly, “we’ll find it,” and she drew off her 
gloves, and stepped briskly to the beck, where, stooping 
over the miniature wharf, she soon fished the shining coin 
from the sandy bottom. Surprised and rejoicing at the 
sight, Sue grasped it with both hands, and held it tighter 
than ever before, while mamma, happy in her happiness 
hurried off to her horse. 

Grief had swept the visit from Sue’s mind; but seeing 
them mount, recalled it and the business connected with it 
in full force, and, clasping her treasure in one hand, she 
gestured with the other as she ran shouting after them, 
B’ing a baby — ^b’ing Coe’s baby ! ” 


326 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


During the visit, Elza, true to her word, gave the “ baby 
message ” to the family, making Master Jack blush and the 
rest laugh. But one of the girls good-naturedly made up a 
doll, dressing it fully, even to cloak, Leghorn bonnet and 
veil, and sent her instead. 

It was late when the visitors returned, but Susy roused 
up in bed with the old question ; and, sure enough, mamma 
answered by laying a fine child in her arms, and adding 
Miss C.’s message, Tell Sue that this is Coe’s baby.” 

But to return to Nell. 

Sometimes she attempted work for Susy as well as for her 
dolls. Once when their joint stock contained a piece of silk and 
two balls of very bright-hued yam, green and yellow, she 
projected from these a work-bag like mamma’s and a paii' of 
dazzling green and gold striped mittens. Mamma could 
have told her at a glance that there was not enough of 
either silk or yarn, and that the latter was unsuitable, being 
coarse carpet-chain. But Nell asked no one, for she was 
often a conceited puss. who needed no advice, and who 
greatly disliked big folk coming round poking into her 
plans; and wishing particularly to avoid all interference at 
this time, at least till the work was well begun, she gathered 
up everything, and, followed by Sue, slipped away into the 
highest attic, where they had a kind of second-best, rainy- 
day playhouse. The sewing was commenced first, and in a 
day or two that was finished — after a fashion. But the 
knitting proved a herculean task, lasting months, for Nell 
was so unskilled, and so hated confinement, that often it did 
not grow a round for days. But, after a weary drag, the 
hand of one mitten, terribly short, stiff, and tight, was pro- 
nounced ‘‘ done — to the thumb.” And then the yarn gave 
out, and, thumbless, mateless, useless, there it was. 

Sue, five years younger than Nellie, was not very critical, 
and, thinking the new outfit would and should do somehow, 
she tried the mitten on one hand and took the droll work- 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


327 


bag in the other. But so comic was the eiBfect, Nell could 
not keep her countenance, but honestly laughed at and hoot- 
ed both, though the work was aU her own. And for years, 
standing jests with her, on bungling and failures, were the 
‘'blue silk reticule” and the “little yeUow mitten.” 

NeUie was neither miserly nor avaricious at all, but rather 
of the “ careless go-easy kind. Still, in some degree she 
shared the common human weakness for money, and this, 
as aU know, was scarce in those early days — very scarce, 
even among the big people, and of course far more so among 
the little ones, some of whom had never handled a piece of 
silver in their lives (save the one they cut their teeth on), 
and very little copper either. So that NeUie, who had at 
one epoch of her history jingled three fivepeni^ bits in her 
pocket at once, and at hardest times usually owned a tup- 
pence or so, was generaUy well content, seeing no good 
reason for lamenting her lot or despising the state of her 
finances. 

StiU, at rare intervals, and especiaUy after that memora- 
ble day’s shopping in town, she was occasionaUy attacked 
by a mild fit of envy, when she longed for stiU greater 
wealth, so as to purchase such finery as she had seen there, 
and at times consulted anxiously with her tribe about ways 
and means of compassing it. At one time buried treasure 
was the idea. “ Some folks,” she said, “ found money, great 
pots of it, away down deep ; and so might they, if they 
just knowed where to look.” (Ah, that little if spoils many 
a fine plot.) 

Finally, though, concluding to dig some anyhow at a ven- 
ture, they ran out behind the house, and, after a little pros- 
pecting, prudently chose a spot both soft and shady, and 
began to delve away. How long these mining operations 
went on (days or hours) is uncertain ; but several times 
during their continuance the camp was thrown into excite- 
ment by the discovery of something hopefuUy hard and 


328 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


round, and, with her usual good fortune, Nell was always 
the lucky finder. 

However, when examined more closely, the old coins 
proved not quite invaluable. The first, when washed, seemed 
the bottom of a pill-box, and the second was an ancient 
pewter button without an eye ; and other articles, though 
deceptively promising, were still further from the mark. 
Nell soon opined that there was no fortune hidden there ; 
but the lesser ones were well pleased, feeling that it was some- 
thing to have dug out anything that even looked like money; 
“ and maybe Twould be real dollars next time.’’ 

But next time, i. e., against her next wishing speUcame on, 
the enterprising leader had thought of another and better 
way of enriching themselves. “Sometimes,” she told them, 
“ in old houses, where everybody was dead or moved away, lots 
of gold and silver was left, hid away in the chimney-back, un- 
der the floor, or somewhere else ; and other nice things, too, 
that anybody might have who went and hunted them first. 
Daddy B. had told such stories, so had the newspaper ; and 
once at Gibs’ she had seen a big book about a mighty old 
house, that, besides its bags and boxes of gold and silver, was 
full of beds and carpets and silk curtains and velvet chairs, 
and ever^dhing awful grand”; and “ all of ’em jest a-layin’ 
there a-moulderin’ to pieces, ’cause nobody would go in and 
live there, or get ’em. There was a hundred rooms all full, 
and not one of ’em had been opened for fifty years — a, hant- 
ed-cassel [haunted castle] Mr. Gibs called it.” 

“ Course they couldn’t find no place like that to hunt in 
— that was ’way ’cross the sea ; but just across a mile or so, 
in Mr. F.’s field, was a little old house like the paper teUed 
of, where the people’d gone off forever. She’d just heard 
of it, and if they went quick, afore anybody else did, she 
’spected they’d find lots of pretties (ma^be not much money, 
for poor old E. hadn’t any for hisself) ; but right smart of 
something they’d get sure.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


B29 


At this news, the game that was progressing under the 
three oaks (one of the favorite haunts) stopped abruptly ; 
all were eager to be off ; though one or two of the more 
provident paused to move the providing of baskets, or wal- 
lets, to hold their expected booty ; but others, voting that 
hats, pockets, kerchiefs, and aprons would do as well and 
save time, away they ran, nor halted till they reached the 
place. 

After a little reconnoitering round the corners, and peep- 
ing in at the windows, they pulled the door-string, and the 
search began. Each one, ambitious to find most, every cor- 
ner, and crack, and stock-hole was scanned over and over, 
but no treasure appeared. A nasty old vermifuge bottle, 
an emj^ty cordial vial or so, a few crumpled papers, and 
faded, grimy rags, — the whole lot not worth the brand 
to burn them — was all they could see. Concluding that the 
more precious deposits must be below the floor, many little 
hands joining, heaved up one or two of the wide, loose 
boards, and part descended. 

While groping round here on all-fours, poking and scrap- 
ing through the dark, damp mould, a heavy step and rough 
voice were heard overhead ; and, glancing upward, they 
saw the lord of the manor standing above. 

A man of moods was Landlord F., and none of them of 
the melting kind, either ; but perhaps he thought this prey 
too small, or the offence too common to waste them on ; for, 
simply ordering those below up, he gruffly, but without 
cuffing or cursing, drove them all out, replaced the floor, re- 
closed and bolted the door, and rode away. 

The suddenly ejected burglars tried to laugh. “ They hadn’t 
done no harm,” they said. But then papa might think 
differently if he heard of it ; and, feeling a little scared, and 
not a little sheepish, they turned homeward, no richer, and 
not half so merry as they came. But Mr. F. never reported 
the matter. Pretty soon a new tenant took the hut, and 
they heard no more about it. 


330 


ROSE AND ETiZA. 


But the most serious misstep ever little Nell was known 
to take herself or lead others into, happened on a Sabbath 
afternoon when she was probably some nine or ten years 
old. 

It was a warm, bright, sunny day, and she sat with her 
books under the cottonwood tree in the yard, when her curi- 
osity was excited by seeing different persons passing by 
with baskets in their hands. By a plan of her own she 
soon discovered to a certainty that these contained wild 
grapes and nuts ; and that these men had been rifling the 
adjacent woods. Vexed and excited, she dropped her books, 
and, calling Max, told him the news. 

The grapes and nuts in the south woods are ripe, and a 
lot of strange, far-off folks were out stealing them right out 
of their corner, and maybe the red plums, too.” 

Max was equally excited and indignant, but what could 
they do? .To-morrow might be too late, and this was 
Sunday. And then they paused and looked at each other, 
till the doubtful question each saw in the other’s eyes 
slowly and cautiously rose to their lips, viz., Could they ! 
ought they to try any way to go get a taste of the goodies 
to-day, if it was Sunday ? ” 

And pretty soon Nell, leading in casuistry as in all else, 
decided that for this once,” and as it was a kind of “ work 
of necessity ” case, may be it wouldn’t be much bad to run 
out and get a few. Still, she thought it might be as well 
not to mind mentioning it to the parents or to any one else, 
but just their two selves walk away, kind-of-unbeknownst- 
like ; and, acting on this plan, they set off with great “ dis- 
patch and privacy.” But presently glancing backward, they 
were annoyed to see the ubiquitous Sue canter out through 
the yard and quickly strike their trail. They had not 
thought it best or safe to take her ; but now it would be far 
less safe to try to leave her. So, making a signal for “ haste 
and silence,” they waited till she came up, barefooted, bare- 
headed hke themselves, and then all three ran away together. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


331 


But, on reaching the place, they found there had been no 
need of Sunday haste after all, for there were plenty of wild 
fruits there still; and the elder ones cHmbed and threw 
down to Sue, and all three ate and ate to their hearts’ con- 
tent. 

They had not intended to stay late, nor to carry any of 
their booty home ; yet they did both. The sun had not 
been very high when they left home, and it had long set be- 
fore they made ready to return ; and then it seemed such a 
pity to leave the grapes on the ground, that the girls filled 
their aprons, thinking they could hide them somewhere to 
eat next day, or, if discovery and trial should foUow, such 
great, purple, fragrant clusters might possibly soften and 
bribe the judge. 

They were not a very happy party returning, these three, 
for their short-hved pleasure was now past ; probable ex- 
posure and punishment loomed up before them, and con- 
science, too, was busy with each. 

Meanwhile they had been missed at home, and called and 
searched for; an I their parents, surprised and displeased, 
were waiting with some anxiety for their appearance ; but 
it was twilight, the chores aU done, and the family nearly 
ready to gather for evening prayers before they ar- 
rived. Then their worst fears of coming to grief and 
shame were realized ; for they were received very grimly, 
and being called at once to account, grave questioning and 
solemn rebuke were followed by sharp chastisement. NeU, 
as eldest and leader, received most stripes. Max fewer, and 
Susy fewest of all ; but mamma was not trifling, an 1 her 
hghtest strokes were nothing to be despised. Neitl er would 
she at all jeUy the grapes, nor in any way use such ill-gotten 
gains ; and, taken altogether every way, the trio counted this 
a most unpleasant affair ; for happily this, their first trial, 
had shown them, what all experience has proved true, that 
Sabbath-breaking never pays in any way. 


332 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Paul, the eldest son, was a sober-minded, diligent child, 
resembling his father and grandfather in disposition more 
than any of the rest ; yet even he once planned a piece of 
mischief that might have almost equalled that of Samson’s 
foxes, had it not been discovered in time. 

On a dry, breezy morning, not long before harvest, the 
parents, before going away for the day, laid out the chil- 
dren’s work, part of which was to cut the weeds and briers 
along the edges of the grain-field preparatory to reaping. 
This ‘‘ day’s doings ” was long since recorded in doggerel, 
and some of these rhymes may be inserted here. The or- 
ders had been to this effect : “ The three great girls were 
to cook the dinner and keep the house.” 

‘‘ And Paul and his squad, with sickles keen. 

Must go to the Southern field to glean. 

We reap the wheat, at an early day, 

Go cull out the briers, while you may.” 

And off they rode, on Snap and Gray, 

And the children sped, to their task away ; 

But in an hour or two, at best. 

Began to clamor for change or rest. 

They were hard beside an ancient tree. 

Branchless and hoary as tree could be ; 

And Paul, the prudent, far-seeing wight. 

Planning to make this loit’ring right. 

Said, “ 1 his old hulk’s not worth a crown ; 

While we rest and play we’ll burn it down. 

There’s a place for the fire, ’tis hollow all, 

’Twill blaze from the top, like a candle tall.” 

Then the sickle fell, from each small hand. 

One rushed away for a burning brand ; 

And others flew, — now there, — now here, 

To gather the wood from far and near, 

Paul cleared the vent, and the fuel fed. 

And over the orifice bent his head ; 

And puffed with his breath, at the embers red. 

When the smoke curled up, and the flames leaped out. 

All the children joined in a merry shout. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


333 


And clapped and cheered, so glad and gay. 

And cantered around it, in joyous play — 

Till a wise old elder passed that way. 

And reined his horse in wild surprise, 

To see ’mid the grain a fire arise. 

The wind was up, the wheat was dry. 

And the elder saw with his blindest eye. 

That this Meadian brood “ was on a high.” 

Children ! ” he screamed, ‘‘you Paul, you lout ! 

You young ones all, what are you about ? 

Stop, stop that work, put that fire out ; 

Bring water, JS'ell, bring water, Paul ! 

Run, run for water, one and all ! ” 

The fire was drowned ; — and elder Ray 
Now grimly smiled, and bade good-day.” 

And the urchins stood by the blackened tree. 

Where the fire and fun had blazed fast and free ; 

And stared at each other, — foolishly. 

And Paul, the fireman, so bold and brave. 

Resumed his sickle, still and grave ; 

Grum as a bear with a wounded head, 

That so soon his fun and fire were dead. 

Yet never a jeer, or “ cuss- word” said. 

But he grumbled low, in an injured way, 

I wish that pesky, daddy Ray, 

Had minded his own old field to-day, — 

Or rode to town some other w^ay. 

And not come spilin’ our pretty play.” 

Another time, years after this, when Pan] forgot his usual 
sedateness, was on this wise. He was assisting the hired 
man at some work one day in sight of the orchard, when 
he called to Sue, who was playing near ; and giving her his 
hat for a basket, asked her to run and get it full of mellow 
apples from under a certain tree, these being the only ones 
yet ripe. This was quite an undertaking ; but glad and 


334 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


proud to serve Paul, who had hardly given her a frown in 
her life, she cheerfully set out. But she was so small, she 
had never been there alone, the orchard appeared a great 
woods, all seemed strange, and on reaching it, she could 
find nothing of the red-streaks. In vain she conned over 
her directions, and roamed from tree to tree, and from row 
to row, looking, feeling, tasting ; few were red, and none 
were mellow. After w^'andering and searching till weary, 
determined to fill the bill in some way, she sat down under 
a tree of the very best she could find, and picking out the 
fairest, one by one, the poor httle goosie laboriously 
pounded them on every side, some against the tree and 
others with a stone. It was hard, tedious work for the ht- 
tle hands, but she kept bravely on till the whole lot was 
bumped as soft as mush ; when, filling the hat, she proudly 
bore it off to the hungry waiters ; calmly explaining, “ I 
didn’t find nary soft one, but I made some.” Paul gave 
the hat of green, battered wind-falls one glance and passed 
it to Tobie. Both tasted, and then the abominable creatures 
began giggling, and grimacing, and laughed, and laughed, 
and made ugly faces, and made jests, till Sue, who had in- 
tended no joke, and saw none, stood amazed at their non- 
sense. Then Paul relenting, and checking his mirth, tried 
to thank her for the great pains she had taken in his ser- 
vice, and inquired politely about this receipt of hers for 
mellowing winter pippins in J uly ? But when she (glad to 
impart useful knowledge) innocently related her plan, — 
graphically describing the whole process, his gravity was 
entirely upset again ; and it was a long time before he 
could forget it, or forbear, boy-like, occasionally teasing her 
with this suddenly ripened fruit. 

Another thing Elza could not soon get accustomed to among 
her little folks, was the interest they took in their elders’ con- 
versation, when she had not thought that they understood a 
word of it, or even heard it; this was sometimes amusing, at 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


335 


others rather annoying. Once she and a friend were mourning 
the condition of several miserable, degraded men near, whose 
earnings were mostly wasted in one folly or another ; but 
they dwelt most on the case of one D., whose hut stood but 
a few rods distant, who was so abjectly poor that his pale, 
half-clad children were begging almost daily. “ They poor 
things should be on the town,” they said, “ and the worth- 
less father in the work-house, and the sooner the better,” 
etc. Little Mattie, sitting among her toys and boxes, was 
listening to this talk of the poverty of D., and making an 
inventory of her own possessions at the same time ; and 
presently spreading them out before the startled dames, 
and telling the amount, she asked proudly, if she was not 
“ most rich as old D., herself ? ” To find that their very 
frank remarks on the nearest neighbors were known and 
appreciated by this extremely free-tongued prattler, was 
probably more interesting than safe or agreeable. 

On another occasion ]\Ir. Mead came in quite out of tem- 
per, telling his wife that he had discovered that the carpen- 
ter lately in his employ had done a part of his job with but 
little judgment, and *^had weU-nigh wasted some of his best 
lumber. Both were indignant, saying so careless a work- 
man ought to pay damages, be punished, or something”; 
but at last decided to keep the peace and let it pass. 

One of the little ones was playing round them at the 
time ; but who thought of her taking any notice ? They 
knew though, when a day or so later this person, a tall, gen- 
tlemanly young fellow, called. The parents greeted him 
civilly, but this fiery youngster, burning to avenge their 
wrongs, flew at the astonished scrivener like a baby fury, 
and began pummelling him with her tiny hands, exclaiming 
over and over in ireful tones : “ Bad man ! Bad man ! You 
sp’iled papa’s board, you did sp’ile papa’s board”; nor did 
the blushing youth deny it. 

Bose was so quiet in her manners, so proud and reserved, 


336 


ROSE AND ELZA* 


that she seldom fell into any scrapes or made saucy speech- 
es ; yet she had some spirit, too, and understood “ grown- 
up talk ” as well as the others. One stormy winter’s night, 
when many were gathered round the blazing hearth, Kose, 
being quite small then, was routed from her seat, and moved 
on several times to make room for older folks. She bore it 
patiently for a while, but, on being pushed still farther into 
the corner, and to what she imagined a cold, windy place, 
she suddenly asserted her rights by answering the stereo- 
typed “ You stand there, Rosa,” with a sharp “ No, I sha’n’t — 
not ’less somebody stan’s ahind me.” 

After a while, the conversation happened to turn on sleep, 
dreams, and nightmares, several giving their experience 
with the latter. (Not long before a man had passed, carry- 
ing a hide so strangely spotted, streaked, brindled, and griz- 
zled as to excite and alarm the childi'en.) And as one after 
another this evening described the wondrous horns, hoofs, 
and claws they had seen, and the many shapes and colors 
the monster took. Rose, hstening with dilated eye, found 
her tongue again, and, gliding up to her mother, brought 
down the house by asking with all solemnity : “ Mamma, 
wasn’t what w^e saw a nightmare’s skin ? ” 

In that age, many grown persons in this county had never 
seen a carpet, so rare were they ; and the first one Mr. Mead 
bought excited the children not a little. Lotta tried it on 
the bed as a kind of winter spread ; and Mattie softly 
stroked the many-hued stripes, murmuring, “ It might make 
me a nice coaty — mustn’t put it on a floor.” And even old 
Tabby, in her own way, expressed the same opinion. Com- 
ing in from her mousing the first day it was down, she 
stopped abmptly on the sill, alarmed and affronted, stand- 
ing with uplifted paw and rising fur, gazing in blank sur- 
prise at this queer innovation. At that day a carpet never 
quite filled a room, it being the style to leave a bai’e strip of 
the floor next the wall, two, tlxree, or more inches wide. And 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


337 


as poor puss stood that day, sad and perplexed, not know- 
ing how she was ever again to reach her warm nook by the 
fire, turning her eyes doubtfully from side to side, she 
luckily espied this narrow - gauge track, and quickly 
squeezing herself into it, she carefully tiptoed round the 
room, looking askance at the carpet, but never once offering 
to set foot on it. 

Not long after this the children were excited by another 
event. A new baby came, and Bessie walked over to see it 
and assist at the christening. The others ran to meet her 
at the lane, as was their wont; clung to her hand, and glee- 
fully told her the news over and over. All loved grandma, 
but Mattie was most devoted of them all ; and when, after 
dinner, all sat round, chatting and debating ■ on the name, 
this warm admirer exclaimed jubilantly : ‘‘I knows the best- 
est, purtiest name — it’s Granny ! Call the baby Granny ! ” 

A short time previous, the same rosy pet had given ma 
quite a turn, not to say a fright. She had been left alone 
that day with her and Nell. Their noise worried her, and 
she was glad when the baby toddled into the shady yard, 
and Mattie settled quietly down on a small chest under an 
open window, where she hoped she might faU asleep. But 
the child kept wide awake, and after a while ceased singing 
and came to her mother with a faint shade of surprise or 
doubt in her clear gray eyes. 

‘‘ Mamma,” she asked, with some curiosity in her tone, 
“ who corned in ? ” 

“ Nobody,” said ma. 

Directly she asked again, ‘‘ Who corned in ? ” and received 
the same reply. But she was not satisfied, and kept repeat- 
ing her query till ma grew a httle impatient, and said, Do 
run away. No one at all has come, I tell you. Nobody but 
Nell has gone out or come in at the door.” 

“ But, mamma,” returned the questioner, seriously, “ who 
corned in at the winda ? ” 

15 


338 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Elza's heart leaped. Had a burglar or maniac entered, 
and she alone ? Had the child gone mad ? A hasty, trem- 
bling search showed no signs of the former, nor a more 
lengthy examination of the child any symptoms of the latter. 
Yet she persisted that ‘^somebody — some woma' had come 
in at the winda, and was gone.” 

She had always been such a truthful child, and not in the 
least flighty or fanciful, that Elza knew not how to act. She 
did not think it wise to encourage her in so strange a story, 
nor yet to contradict her flatly. She told her husband and 
some of their friends. He, man-like, laughed and pshawed; 
but the women looked grave, believing it a token of a death 
in the family. And when Mattie was shortly after taken 
dangerously fll, they were sure of it ; but she recovered, 
and, nothing further following, that theory failed. But long 
after Mattie had ]3ut away childish things, and was herself 
a woman, wife, and mother, she remembered and repeated 
her childish story as sturdily as at first ; nor did it ever 
change to less or more, but always remained in substance 
the same. 

Strong-minded as she was considered by all who knew 
her, yet she always retained the impression that, seemingly, 
on that summer day, a dim, shadowy something in the sem- 
blance of a woman floated in over her through the open 
window and disappeared. 

Whether this was the first symptom of approaching dis- 
ease, a mere optical delusion, or one of those phenomena 
that are simply unaccountable, the readers can judge. The 
incident is given them as frequently related by both mother 
and daughter. 

There were several places around, that the cousins and 
other children too, particularly enjoyed visiting ; but only 
two or three can be mentioned here. The first w^s one that 
delighted some of the wee girls, and was a widish old 
house in a lonely, shady dell, occupied by three generations 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


339 


or so of colored people. The most striking thing about this 
household was its patriarchal character, for there were no 
“Uncle Toms” among the men; nor were ahy of the 
women “Cassias,” nor the girls “Topsys.” They were 
poor, but no better, and probably no worse than many of 
their white employers. One of the complaints of the lat- 
ter against the men was that they worked rather leis- 
urely, and ate enormously. For instance, Mrs. H. one day 
boiled a large joint of meat for dinner, expecting to have 
enough left for next day’s dinner also ; but one of these 
dusky fellows being there, and eating last, besides making 
havoc with the bread and sauce, fell like “ Sprat and wife ” 
on the beef “ fat and lean,” leaving “ the platter ” (almost) 
“clean.” Mrs. H. was provoked ; but her husband was 
amused at the exploit ; and, being an inveterate joker, said 
to the trencher-man at night: 

“ Wliy, Cuffie, I hear you destroyed some eight pounds 
of beef at dinner.” 

“No, sah,” returned Cuff, indignantly; “no, sah ; I doan 
believe there wur a spec moah than foah pounds.” 

Pete and Dick were also valiant at the table, but hardly 
to the same extent. Among the females, DoUie was stout, 
homely, and half-witted ; Barbry was lighter-colored, smart, 
and handsome, and spent much time greasing, pulling, 
and patting her own and her children’s hair, to make it 
look like “ white folks’.” Frances, the grandame, was con- 
tentedly black, ugly and withered, yet shrewd, industrious, 
and kind-hearted — the best of the lot. 

But it was not anything in the owners of the cottage, old 
or young, good or bad, that interested the visitors so much 
as* the adornments of it ; the odd bits of strange, bright fin- 
ery around it, but especially the shelves of ware, — ^this was 
the great, the crowning attraction. What a show there 
was, of pewter, glass, delf, queensware, Liverpool china. 
Such a countless store of tea-pots, coffee-pots, urns, cream 


340 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


jugs, butter-dishes, preserve-dishes, tea-plates, dinner-plates, 
mugs, bowls, of every shape, size, color ; and covered all 
over with pictures of men and women, houses, tents, ships, 
birds, beasts, shells, trees, flowers, in red, bronze, green, 
brown, purple, pink, gold. What an endless variety in form, 
pattern, quality, and hue ; for almost every piece was dif- 
ferent, — one by itself. This was a real art study for the 
children ; better to them than a Florentine gallery, though 
it might be added that what gave them such unalloyed 
pleasure was ware of the kind “ wisely kept for show.” Be- 
ing mostly cracked, it had been given piece by piece to the 
trio by the quality here and there, where they had served 
year by year as char-women. 

The second place of resort was a little brown cabin on a 
by-road, built of round logs, with clapboard and weight- 
pole roof, and mud-and-stick chimney. This quaint piece 
of masonry, the chimney, was often on Are inside and out ; 
but being so conveniently low, the owner merely stepped 
out with a pail of water, and a scrub-broom, and, mounting 
a three-legged stool, soon conquered the flames. 

The furniture consisted of a low, square table, a bed, 
dresser, six hickory chairs, a pot bench, a water bench, and 
a chest. On the mantel stood a smoothing-iron, a bread 
pan, rolling-pin, and potato-masher ; also an iron candle- 
stick and a Dutch lamp (for burning lard with a rag wick), 
in shape and size not unlike a half-closed hand. Some 
clothes hung round the walls, a row of stockings dangled on 
a line above, and a gun rested in two hooks near by. As 
there was no cellar nor closet, the stores were necessarily in 
view, and it pleased the children to note and count the dif- 
ferent articles laid in. . . • 

The year round they saw the potato and meal bins, standing 
by the white dresser, and a smaller one for flour beside 
them. A string of smoked fish was a fixture in one chim- 
ney corner, and cuts of dried beef or venison often graced 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


341 


the other. In autumn, sacks of chestnuts, strings of pop- 
corn, and festoons of drying apples came to bear them com- 
pany ; and clusters of red peppers, parcels of different kinds 
of seeds, and bundles of herbs hung round the jambs. Later 
a tub of sauer-kraut, a keg of pickles, a jar of souse, and per- 
haps two or three more of some cheap sweetmeats, were 
found filling the coolest corner of the cabin, and a few 
flitches of bacon, and a few yards of sausage were seen 
swinging from the joists. 

In winter a great log fire was always blazing on the broad 
hearth, defying cold and storm ; and in summer, flowers 
were always blooming round the door. Kows of sunflowers, 
hollyhocks, and blue-bells grew higher than the eaves ; and 
below them, the little beds glowed with double scarlet pop- 
pies, nasturtiums, marigolds, and other brilliant old-time 
posies. 

At all seasons the juveniles found this a bright, cheerful 
resort ; though the only company there, was the owners, a 
married couple verging on seventy. He was something 
portly ; she, spare ; otherwise their small visitors thought 
them much alike. Both were tall and straight, with plain 
but strong-featured faces, seamed and bronzed with time, 
and shaded by locks equally stiff and gray. His head was 
seldom seen without his hat, nor hers without a small, three- 
cornered kerchief worn as a cap, and tied under her chin. 
Both dressed in some rough home-made stuff, of a dismal, 
dead, dun hue ; but the dullness of his attire was relieved 
by a coarse white shirt and bandanna stock, and hers by a 
madder-red petticoat, and on state occasions by a blue 
checked apron also. 

A most tidy busybody, she liked nothing dangling round, 
hindering her work. Her gown was always tucked up out 
of the way, a foot above the red linsey underskii-t, and se- 
cured firmly at her left side. Her sleeves were turned back 
half-way to her elbows, and her front hair was swept from 


342 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


lier brow, and twisted together into one odd little knot, hard 
and slim like a small horn, that stood out over the middle of 
her forehead unicorn-fashion. 

In character she was proverbially grave and silent, while 
the husband was full of jests and laughter and the news of 
the day ; yet with both, the children felt at ease, whether 
they called in companies or by twos or threes. 

Once Sue went ail alone. Having fallen into some mis- 
chief at home, and being in imminent danger of detection, 
she bethought herself of this safe retreat, and tiptoeing 
down-stairs she slijDped out at the back door and ran away. 

It was a November day, with weather of its own peculiar 
brewing — surly and out of sorts ; cold, dark, dank ; ‘‘ no 
sun, no shade, no shine.” A raw wind came in fitful 
gusts ” through the trees as she passed. Now scarce rus- 
tling a bough, anon dashing them spitefully together, and 
sweeping the sere leaves in showers to the ground. A chilly 
fog dropping now a few scattered crystals of snow ; now 
the slightest sprinkle of misty rain, as though undetermined 
which shape to fall in, or whether to fall at all, pervaded 
the air. A straggling, belated flock of wild geese, lost and 
bewildered, called mournfully to each other overhead, as 
they flew back and forth, and beat with weary wing the 
leaden sky. 

The road was lonely, the flowers were dead, the fields 
were brown ; everything was gloomy, and so was the 
traveller. She was cold too; for, starting in such haste, the 
extra wraps donned were rather scarce ; in fact, consisted 
only of the one yellow mitten ; but warmth and welcome 
awaited her, and she hastened on. 

Old Millie received her with her usual dry friendliness, 
and old Martin with his usual jocund garmlity. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” he began. ‘‘ Now here’s our little gal corned 
to see us; all alone, too. Come right here to the fire and 
warm herself, and let’s see how big she’s growed. But, 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


343 


sakes alive, where’s her cloak and bunnet ? Ain’t she af eared 
Jack TTrost ’ill nip her ? ” 

Then, spying the poor, skimp, thumbless mit, he con- 
tinued : 

“ Oh, there ! she’s got that mitten. What need of any- 
thing more to make her warm ? Put her mit on her hand, 
and her hand on her head, and shell be ‘ snug as a bug in a 
rug.’ ” 

And so he went on petting, and teasing, and questioning, 
while his wife, gravely smiling, listened and knitted in her 
easy-chair, and Fido dozed beside her, and Tom purred at 
her feet, and the “ gTeat fire up the chimney laughed.” But 
the infant fugitive from justice was dull. For once she 
could not enjoy the cheerful surroundings and gay badi- 
nage, for she was thinking of her fault and its consequences. 
Pretty soon her fears were realized, for a knock at the door 
was followed by the entrance of a messenger, who came to 
search for and convey her home instantly ; but whether to 
meet punishment or pardon is unknown. 

The children were never permitted to stay to trouble the 
old couple for meals or pieces, but gifts of fruit or flowers 
they might receive, and did. Once Sue, calling with several 
of the neighboring urchins, found old Millie out, and di- 
rected by Martin, followed her to the adjacent wood, where 
she was washing by the spring. The clear, g-ushing water, the 
smoke curling up through the trees, the steaming, foaming 
caldron, the quaint washerwoman surrounded by her tubs 
and baskets, made a picturesque scene, and after a blind 
fashion, they saw and admired it ; but soon all the quick 
eyes left the wider view to fix on one point alone. A little 
left of the spring, on a low trellis, a vine was clinging, with 
fruit varying in size from a quail’s egg to a hen’s, and in 
form from round to oval, in color from white and green to 
brown and orange, and on some specimens all these hues 
were seen at once, striped and shaded beautifully together. 


344 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


But whatever their size or color, all hung by slender han- 
dles, symmetrically straight or gracefully curved, and smooth 
as ivory. It was the dwarf gourd, a new thing to them, and 
they surrounded it, exclaiming with surprise and delight, 
while the owner looked on, in her own quiet way, sharing 
their happiness, and presently raising it still higher by 
promising that each should have one of the beauties to car- 
ry home when they ripened. To their quick, eager ques- 
tioning as to when that would be? she replied serenely, 
“ Oh, some day soon. In a week or so, likely.” 

What an age that would be to wait; stiU they resolved to 
be patient, and giving one more look, tore themselves away. 
But the very next day saw the whole troop parade up again, 
not noisily or impudently though, but more softly and shyly 
than usual. They greeted the dame suavely, did not tease 
her at all about the promised treasures, nor even ask to see 
them again; but they hung around her with such tell-tale 
faces, such coaxing, fawning, longing looks, that the kind 
old soul could not withstand them; but shortly rose, and 
saying : Mebby some of them gourds mout do to pull 
now,” led the way to the vine. After a little testing of their 
hardness, she began to gather and give (to their surprise), 
reserving none for herself or Martin, but giving all to them. 
And having received the very last one, grateful, rich, and 
happy, they bore them home, where a sharp knife soon 
transformed them into ships, ladles, goblets, bowls, etc., 
each pretty toy serving to endear the giver to them more 
and more. 

It may have been a year after this, or less, or more, when 
this warm friendship was interrupted, but not through in- 
constancy in either party. There was trouble in the brown 
cabin, and week after week the little ones were kept away, 
and the mothers went instead. “ Millie was sick,” they were 
told ; ‘‘ very sick and low, and must not be disturbed.” 
Nor was she ever any better, nor did they ever see her in 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


345 


life again. It was autumn when she died, perhaps Indian 
summer ; for though the nights were chill, the days were 
warm and hazy, and at her funeral the doors stood wide- 
open, and many of the company sat outside. Among these 
were the children, the httle neighbors. They could disturb 
her no longer, they might come now, and they came early and 
stopped timidly together in the yard. Death was new and 
strange to them ; they were awed and silent ; and yet with the 
quick senses of childhood, they heard everything in-doors and 
out, saw everybody, and insensibly marked every look and 
movement around them. There, opposite the white dresser, 
they saw stout Mrs. B. and her pale, meek little husband 
sitting within ; and here, under the window, their tall boy 
and his two small sisters standing without ; yonder, looking 
like one in authority, was portly Mrs. D., with her great 
bunch of keys at her belt ; and there, conferring with her, 
neat Mrs. F., whose tiniest of lap-dogs, so sharp and black 
and brisk, suggested a magnified flea ; left of the door, in 
the easy-chair, sat Mrs. H. with her lean, puling babe, and 
right of it Mrs. J. with her fat, crowing one ; in the low 
rocker was Mamie K., who owned the only china doll in the 
district: a beauty, but of httle use, as it was generally kept 
swathed up in white cotton hke a mummy, and locked away 
in the till of a chest. But the bulk of the congregation was 
gathering fast now ; some groups were walking across the 
fields, others were riding up from the south end of the 
road, others from the north end, and among the latter rode 

the preacher — ^the Baptist pastor from N . The children 

saw every person and object ; but their thoughts were fixed 
on two alone, and their eyes returned continually to these — 
to the shrouded form of Millie in her coffin, and to Martin 
sitting bare-headed and bowed beside it. When the minis- 
ter entered and sat down, Martin arose and handed him his 
wife’s Bible and psalm book, open at passages marked by 
her own hand, which he said she had chosen years before 
15 * 


346 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


for her funeral.” From these it seemed as though she had 
aimed ‘‘ being dead,” yet to speak for Christ, give Him all 
the glory, take to herself (and race) all the sin and shame, 
for from that wonderful description of His passion, Isaiah 
liii., she had chosen the 6th verse, also the 11th to 12th : All 
we ... . have gone astray ; we have turned every one to 
his own way ; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of 
us all,” etc. And the hymn : 

Like sheep we went astray, 

Each, all, the downward road,” etc., 

re-echoed the self-same sentiments. Both were read aloud ; 
then the one was sung, the other preached from. Of the 
merits of singing and sermon, these youthful listeners un- 
derstood little; but the texts and hymns — Millie’s own — im- 
pressed them deeply, and for them, were ever after associa- 
ted with her memory. 

The brown cabin was changed now ; the new housekeeper 
was gossipy and untidy ; her family troublesome ; and Mar- 
tin, lonely and restless, soon left it to go on a long journey. 
.... One day during his wandering he came to the Elmer 
house, and though an humble stranger, as one from dear 
Fayette, Rose received him joyfully, laid everything aside 
to talk with him, and treated him with right royal hospitality. 
When he returned, rich in travellers’ tales of sights and ad- 
ventures, and above all, laden with news, letters, and mes- 
sages from Rose, and graphic descriptions of her and her 
family, he seemed to his small friends almost a hero. How- 
ever, their acquaintance was about ending now, for he left 
the place again, before long, to remain ; and though they 
never forgot him, they knew nothing of his after-hfe, nor 
how nor when it ended. 

The third place mentioned, Hke the second, was a cabin 
too, but in much else was dissimilar. It stood on high 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


347 


ground, not low. Off from tlie road, not on it. Consisted of 
three rooms, not one. Was white, not brown. And lastly, 
was very lively, not lonely; for these householders were not 
an ancient couple, but in their prime, and blessed with a 
troop of healthy boys and girls. Many bttle clearings, with 
their owners’ houses in the midst, were then found along 
the foot of Chestnut Eidge, and this was one of them ; the 
whitewashed cot standing a few rods up the side of the 
hill, in a garden doubly enclosed with a close fence, and a 
hedge of currant-bushes. A sunny foot-path led up the 
western slope to the gate, and thence through clumps of 
rose-trees and beds of pinks and pansies to the door ; and 
a shady one, wound down the eastern bank, through copse 
and grape-vines to the pure rock-bound spring. Near it, on 
the right, a mountain stream scarcely less clear and cold, 
rolled by, and presently the waters of both uniting, went 
babbling together down the vale. Just beyond the beck, 
the mountain began to rise, — dark with pines and hemlocks 
above, and beneath with thickets of laurel, kalmia, honey- 
suckle, and smaller undergrowth. Here and there plats of 
arbutus and snow-vine crept and tangled among the gnarled 
roots ; tufts of violets, innocence, anemone, and other plants 
abounded, — and more • rarely the chaste wax - star, and 
the coy wood-coral peeped shyly forth from among the 
fems. A little further on, rocks began to jut out, some 
high, some low, some rough and bare, some green with 
moss or gi'ay with lichens, some bristling with brambles, 
some draped with ivy. On one side man’s hand appeared; 
on the other nature’s, and nature’s alone. 

A fair, romantic spot it was at all seasons ; but in early 
summer, when the late washed cottage gleamed whitest 
tlirough the trees ; when the brook warbled in unison with 
the birds singing and building on its banks, when garden 
flowers and mountain flowers vied in beauty ; under such 
sun and sky as only childhood sees — ^then it was passing fair; 


348 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and it was then that some of the infantile band saw it first. 
It was June, a perfect morning in June, when its charms 
first opened on their view, and at once the picture became 
all their own. Theirs the order of the cultured garden, the 
wildness of the untamed forest ; theirs the joy of the birds ; 
the glory of the roses theirs forever. Many a time in after 
years memory returned the scene or sweet poesy recalled 
it. To them it was less a fabled landscape of the Orient 
than this real elysium by the AUeghanies, that lived and 
breathed in such lines as the Lute Song ” of Moore, be- 
ginning : 

‘‘There’s a bower of roses by Benderaeer’s stream, 

And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; 

In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream, 

To sit in the roses and hear the birds’ song. 

Its flowers and its music I never forget, 

They come to me still in the bloom of the year ; 

And bright to my soul, as ’twas then to my eyes, 

Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer.” 

And this semi-Eden, as was mete, was consecrated ground, 
whose bounty and beauty were received gratefully, but only 
as an earnest of a fairer home on high. Here faithful 
parents dedicated their offspring to God from their birth, 
and trained them for His service. Here every meal began 
Avith thanks and blessing, and every day opened and closed 
with prayer. The master, Mr. A., was a valued officer in the 
church, a sweet singer in Israel, a leader in every good work,* 
and a man of ardent piety. A most intimate friend of Bes- 
sie T.’s and the Meads, he frequently visited there, and on 


* Some said, “ Mr. A. is too religious ; spends too much time cate- 
chising the children, attending meetings, praying with the sick, and 
so on.” This is hardly probable, for he was a prudent man, as well 
as a pious one ; but even if true, these were not faults ever likely to 
become dangerously 'prevalent. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


349 


these occasions it was usual for all small, common topics of 
conversation to sink away and be forgotten, while such 
grave themes as Science, Morals, Eeligion, Prophecy, etc., 
were discussed instead. This latter, the “meaning and 
fulfilment of prophecy,” w^as an absorbing subject with 
Brother A. and with all of them ; and many a time their 
hearts burned within them as they spake one to another of 
millennial glory, and watched with eager gaze the signs of 
the times for some token of its dawn. Then, too, all loved 
the song's of Zion, as did others who often joined them, and 
evening visits usually closed with singing, an employment 
so delightful, that eleven o’clock would find the circle yet 
unbroken, and the notes of praise still rising on the winter 
air 

Happy friends, in aims and wishes one ; fellow-soldiers 
of the cross, fellow pilgrims to glory ; long ago your leader 
fell, and once broken, slowly, one by one, the circle dropped 
away, to be seen no more. Long sundered here, but re- 
united there, changing worlds purified, but scarcely changed 
their employ. Together again they sit at the Master’s feet, 
leai'n more of His wisdom, serve Him better, study the 
mysteries of redemption yet, sing His praises still. 

Says a sweet poet, “ Tears befit earth’s partings,” and for 
him, tliis beloved disciple, this standard-bearer in the Tvdl- 
demess, there was heavy mourning ; and over the death of 
these, his “ friends so linked together ” in Christian love, 
there were enough to weep. And yet why mourn for such 
to whom “ death is but gain ” ? 

Why weep that they are blest, the conflict o’er, the crown on every 
brow ? 

The glass no longer dim, they know as they are known ; 

And the brief praises sung together here 

Before the throne, they sing forever now.* 


* These early choristers admired Watts’ psalms most, and sang 


350 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


One of the changeless rules that the M/s practiced them- 
selves and taught their children, was showing kindness to 
the poor ; not only to those they knew, but to strangers. 
True, Mr. M. often said : 

“ For aught we know these travelling beggars may be 
idle impostors.” 

And his wife agreed with him. Yet on mature considera- 
tion both decided thus : 

“ As we can not possibly tell who is worthy and who is 
not, we will give little or no money, lest it be wasted ; but 
we will never refuse the wretched wanderers food or a 
night’s shelter.” 

Then, as now, tramps were an abomination to most peo- 
ple ; some refusing even a lunch, and very few giving 
lodging. 

“We don’t keep strangers here,” was a common mode of 
declining ; and some would add, civilly, “ but a piece on, they 
do.” And thus advertised, the M.’s always had more than 
their just proportion. Besides those who called but once 

them to the solid music of Old Hundred,” “ Coronation,” “Amer- 
ica,” “ Denmark,” “ Dundee,” “ Delight,” “ Lenox,” “ Lena,” “ Mont- 
gomery,” “ Marlborough,” “Mount Sion,” “ Martyrs,” “ Sherburne,” 
and a host of others. But occasionally they indulged in new tunes, 
and also in new hymns — such as “ Hasten, O sinner, to be wise,” 
“ Saw ye my Saviour,” “ Come, my heart, and let us walk,” “ Bold 
pilgrim,” “ Heavenly vision,” etc., with many elegies, anthems, and 
chants. Mr. A. introduced many of these novelties into the settle- 
ment ; and when pieces became great favorites, he had copies mulli- 
plied by writing them off on sheets of the stiff, coarse, dingy, unruled 
paper of the age, and distributed, not only to those more intimate 
friends, but to others in the congregation at large. These two in 
particular, “How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,” and 
“ Home, sweet Home,” were much sought after. And more than 
one tried Christian kept her copies of them pinned to her cabin wall 
beside her wheel or loom, and found strength and solace in their 
hopes and promises, while with weary hands she toiled for her chil- 
dren's bread. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


351 


or twice, they had three regulars who came in as often as 
they passed that way. 

The first, Simon, was a big, hearty fellow, capable (if 
brain or will had equalled his strength) of doing a fair 
day’s work. 

Jake was a half-witted, homely, harmless soul, who car- 
ried a hooked stick in one hand and a small bundle in the 
other, tied up in a faded, yellow-flowered, cotton kerchief. 
He was merry too ; could troll a song, and sometimes rose 
as early as three o’clock, kindled up the kitchen fire, and 
treated the sleeping family to a lively serenade on the jews- 
harp. 

Johnnie was a little, thin, pale old man, foolish too, or 
very eccentric. A beggar on horseback was he, or would 
have been had he not always walked and led his horse, 
which invariably bore some kind of a burden. Slow, feeble 
walkers both appeared; yet together they tramped back and 
forth across the country continually, travelling (it was said) 
many hundred miles a year. On halting he always led his 
steed up to the very door, and, standing on the steps, his 
first salutation (in a weak, piping voice) would be : 

“ Missus, will ye give me a wee bit o’ bran and a wee bit 
o’ corn, for my wee brown mare ? ” 

Nor did the kind old creature ever lay down the bridle 
till he saw her served. But this once well done, he did not 
so much regard himself. He never seemed eager for food, 
and once when invited to eat, said, dubiously: 

“Well, I don’t know about that; I was eatin’ some last 
Friday” 

Yet he usually ended by making a reasonable meal. He 
talked very little ; but once or twice abused witches and 
fairies, saying they had sometimes pierced him with their 
invisible darts, and had done him many an ill turn. 

Friends to love him or to love, he appeared to have none; 
but divided his affections equally between the rough, brown 


352 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


pony and his bundles, especially one, said to contain half a 
peck or so of old broken watches, which he carried with him 
everywhere and laid under his pillow at night. The chil- 
dren had a great curiosity to see, or at least know, the con- 
tents of his various packs, and to count his watches. But 
their parents forbade their annoying the old man by ques- 
tions, or even by looking too sharply toward his only treas- 
ures. Some thought he carried on some kind of trade in 
his travels ; but, if so, he never in all his visits mentioned it 
to the Meads, who always spoke of him as a singular being, 
without ties, home, or country (so far as they knew), who 
was forever moving on and on, as aimless and restless as the 
‘‘Wandering Jew.” 

Dreading infectious disorders, etc., it was their habit to 
have bedding and other articles used by such persons thor- 
oughly washed ; and this and other things connected with 
it made the entertainment of this class very troublesome. 
Yet none were ever turned away. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Merry childhood's pranks and plays . — The Coming Prince, 

By some means, Elza’s family has been introduced before 
her brother’s, though his fourth child was two years older 
than her first. But this story often flits back and forth, 
and this time to a period several years prior to Paul’s death. 

Fred’s first child was a boy “ so fine,” the nurse said, 
“that he would be in gTeat peril by the fairies”; and, in 
spite of Fred’s ridicule, she sat up all his first night to guard 
him. 

None of the common names suggested by friends on 
either side would quite answer for this precious first-bom ; 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


353 


so the proud father, abetted by Elza, searched through prose 
and verse for one more suitable, and Homer was judged 
sufficiently stately. .... The second babe was Lois; the 
third, Ophelia; the foui*th, Rosa, and so on. 

The chore-boy, Teddy, took great interest in all the chil- 
dren, but was S]3eciaUy bound up in a pair of twins, born 
while he was still small ; and to avoid jangling and jealousy 
between him and Lois, mamma allowed each to own one. 
Lois was so young that her claim was mostly in name ; but 
Ted bore his babe in his bosom half the day, and often kept 
it at night also ; and when in a year or two Rowland died, 
probably not one followed him to the grave with deeper 
grief than Teddy, or remembered and lamented him so 
long.* 

After the first keen pain abated, his loving heart began to 
hunger and long after the remaining babe, and he followed 
its nominal owner from one play-place to another, begging 
her, as she could not take care of it herself, to give it to 
him. Katrina was entirely favorable to Teddy’s proposi- 
tion, knowing what an amount of care it would relieve her 
from ; but for some time the owner, the little one, was ob- 
durate and Ted dejected ; but money is power, and when, 
a little later, he renewed his suit, reinforced by a fresh, new 
penny, Lois relented, and after some chaffering, for she was 
a born business woman, the bargain was sealed, the coin 
going into her pocket and the babe into his arms. And per- 
haps never before nor since did a child find a more faithful, 
devoted nurse than twin Lida found in Irish Teddy. 

The extensive apple and peach orchards planted by Paul 
T. at an early day have been mentioned ; and soon after, his 
lane was lined with different kinds of cherry-trees also. 
The good man provided thus bountifully, not only that fam- 
ily and friends might be well provided for, but also that 


^For proof of this, see Malone’s Feelings in Old Age,” Chap. xlvi. 


354 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


there might always be a supply for the use of the poor. 
Five or six of the largest cherry-trees, next the house, were 
reserved for home use ; but from the others, all who needed 
could take for the asking. Some accepted this kind offer 
modestly, aod were grateful to the donors ; but a few were 
so base as to grudge the owners any rights whatever. Un- 
less watched, they were continually sneaking into the re- 
served cherry-trees, and when the larger fruits ripened, they 
took of them also when and where they chose, asking no 
one. Paul and Bessie were grieved that their kindness 
should be so abused ; but Fred, as was his wont, managed 
even out of this provoking insolence to extract a bit of sport.* 


* Much has been said in this history about Fred’s love of mirth and 
jesting ; but any sport leading to irreverence or recklessness both he 
and Elza abhorred, and taught their families to do the same. Once, 
passing a small house on his farm, he heard cries and groans issuing 
from it; mingled with a broken rhapsody of sad and solemn words. 
Running in to offer help and sympathy, he found his tenant’s daugh- 
ter, a girl of fourteen, stretched on the bed, her limbs working con- 
vulsively, eyes rolled back — all the symptoms of approaching disso- 
lution, while her mates stood round with all the grief and awe they 
could muster, watching her last throes. On his entrance all the act- 
ors were abashed, but especially the principal one, who skipped out 
of bed in much confusion, which increased when the irate landlord 
told her his opinion, and ended by not very gallantly threatening her 
with a cowhiding if he ever caught her making a mock of pain and 
death and sacred names again.” 

Some reckless jests among his acquaintances, and their conse- 
quences, he often told his children for warnings — as the following : 
One sultry day, as several young people of the neighborhood were re- 
turning from a jaunt together, the chat by some means fell on the 
practice of bleeding, then so common with all physicians, and often, 
too, performed by those who were not. 

Suppose we get bled ? ” cried Kate C. '*1 move we all stop at 
Uncle Z.’s and get bled.” 

‘‘ What for ? ” asked one. ‘‘ We’re not sick.” 

They had all been very gay, talking no end of nonsense, and Kate 
retorted : 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


355 


As lie and Teddy were passing from their work one day, 
they saw Doad Huxley, a long, green, ill-favored gawky, 
perched on the top of mother T.’s fullest, ripest morello, 
picking for dear life and breaking the limbs shamefully. 
As this was one of the most impudent, persistent of the 
raiders, Frederick determined to give him a fright. 

“ Teddy,” he roared, see there again ! But we’ll stop 
this game yet. We can fell the tree, thief and all. Bring 
on the axel'' And he strode sternly forward, roUing up 
his sleeves as he came. 

Then began wild commotion in the heights above. The 


** We’ll be bled for the simples — we’re all bad enough with that.” 

“ That’s a fact,” returned Ed. J. “ Who’ll be leeched first ? The 
biggest simpleton must lose most blood. And won’t Uncle Zeke be 
surprised to see such a troop of patients all at once ? ” 

And thus they went on, the others only in jest ; but as they neared 
the house Kate insisted that they should go in, and carry the thing 
through. All refused this, but, as she turned resolutely towards 
the door, they followed to see the end. Kate glibly told her errand, 
and bared her round, white arm ; but, as her cheeks were glowing 
with health, her eye sparkling with mischief, and all the rest laugh- 
ing, Uncle Zeke saw the joke and laid down his lancet. But the 
would-be patient begged him to go on. . ‘‘ She was bad with the simples, 
very bad, and he must cure her,” she said. All the others tried to 
dissuade her from such folly, but she persisted, and finally got her 
will, and all started on again as merry as ever. But by and by it was 
discovered that the arm was bleeding again, and they stopped at a 
spring to bathe and rebandage it. This checked it, but before long 
it began afresh, and they stopped at a second spring, and then at a 
third one, and repeated their bathing and bandaging; and as the pa- 
tient began to grow faint, the gayest became serious, and were glad 
when they at last saw her safe inside her mother’s door. 

But there was a sequel to follow. In a day or two it was seen that 
the tiny, almost imperceptible wound, instead of healing was growing 
slightly red and angry. In a day or two more the arm became swol- 
len, then discolored, and, to be brief, in spite of the doctor’s skill it 
turned to gangrene, and the foolish jest ended by laying the poor, 
giddy maid in her grave. 


356 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


boughs swayed and created ; twigs, leaves, and fruit fell 
fast ; while the thief scrambled and leaped, bawling aloud, 
“ Don’t ! don’t ! Mercy, don’t ! I’ll never steal no more ! 
Lemme down ! Lemme down ! ” It was all dead earnest with 
the boy, and just as Fred seized the axe, and drew back as 
if for a mighty blow, down he came, as white as a ghost, 
took to his heels and fled like a deer ; while the naughty 
delighted jesters looked on and laughed, and went in to 
season the dinner with a description of the fright and the 
flight. Another time a female poacher placed herself in an 
amusingly awkward position, and recovered ‘herself from 
it, with a coolness worthy of a general, or so thought Fred. 
One evening some of the family noticed a short, heavy 
woman sauntering around in the north orchard, and stopped 
a moment to obsers^e her. Finding she was seen, the lady 
walked briskly up to the house, looking as honest as the 
sun ; and asked quite respectfully for “ a few apples.” The 
request v:as granted at once, and one or two of the children 
started to show her the baking apples and help to get them. 
Here was a fix, and no way to avoid it. Seeing that all 
must, and would come out directly, she flung aside her 
hesitation, and remarked with refreshing frankness, ‘‘that 
she had already found the best apples, and gathered them 
too ; but the little gals mought came along and help her 
load them up ! ” They went, and sure enough in the far 
corner found one or more large meal-sacks fiUed and wait- 
ing, and had the pleasure of helping to “ boost ” them on 
to a high horse that stood quietly cropping the grass beside 
them 

The homes of Fred T. and Mr. Mead standing not 
two miles apart (near for that age), the families were, 
of course, very intimate ; and almost endless were the 
visits the cousins paid each other, and the games they 
played together. In summer they oftener all haunted the 
former’s place, attracted by the thousand charms of moun- 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


357 


tain, stream, and vale : those same fresh, changeless charms, 
that had so powerfully impressed, and held the affections 
of those who had roved and sported there before them. 
But when the season forbade outdoor delights, they more 
frequently met at Mead’s in a large, rude out-house, one part 
of which afforded a convenient play-room. There were 
two lofts for dry lumber in it, one store-room, a loom-shop, 
and a work-room, etc. This latter was fitted up with heavy 
benches ; its walls hung round with tools, shelves, and boxes. 
Its doors and beams adorned with quaint figures, and rows 
of tall capitals, in black and red paint, where successive 
apprentice boys had tried their artistic talent, and inscribed 
their names. And here, where nobody ever demanded 
quiet, or talked of nerves, headache, or heartache ; around 
the bright fire of this true Liberty Hall, the cousins and 
their mates loved to congregate through the winter nights ; 
and the younger children often through the day - also. 
They had many simple games, these happy country urchins, 
such as the “ wolfs den,” “ keeping an inn,” “ King Charles 
men,” good man of the house,” ‘‘ neighbor froggy,” “ little 
Jacky Kinggall,” etc., etc. “Hide and seek,” “poor pussy,” 
and two or three others that follow, were special favorites. 
Sometimes the sport was varied by falls, bumps, and 
other small disasters that were borne by the unfortunates 
according to their various temperaments. Lina, Sadie, and 
Julia, if hurt, often cried, and Sue also. Nell, bright and 
droll as she was, was rather prone to pouting if things went 
wrong. Mattie did neither ; but once when she received a 
rap on the brow from another urchin’s head, disfiguring 
her, she quietly left the merry company entirely. But 
Mattie was too wise and sober to play well, anyhow ; so her 
desertion did not so much matter. Max hated accidents, 
and still more the laugh with which the impulsive crew 
greeted them, — i. e., hated them if he was victimized ; other- 
wise he found them very amusing. One night, for some 


358 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


reason, a large caldron of water covered with a cloth stood 
in a dusky corner ; and Max having been caught out in, 
How many milQS to Barley-bright ? ” thought good to re- 
pose awhile, and heedlessly flung himself on this treacher- 
ous seat. At this episode, everybody laughed, and Sadie 
gayly began quoting a comic stanza made on a similar 

scene. “ The weary man sat down to rest, and squ ’’ But 

the “weary man” showing signs of fight, the mirth pru- 
dently subsided, or was indulged secretly. Another even- 
ing, playing blindfold, Nanny A., a stout twelve-year-old, as 
blind man, was rushing around with great velocity after 
the hght-toed crowd ; when stumbling beyond bounds, be- 
fore any one could cry “ Breakers ! ” she fell with out- 
stretched hands — splash ! into a low meat-tub, empty, save 
the ancient bloody brine ; and brown curls, face, neck, and 
arms, received a sudden salt bath. All expected tears, 
wrath, or a storm of some kind ; but were mistaken. After 
the first gasp and exclamation, this model child broke into 
a bright, cheery laugh, and assisted by her mates, quickly 
washed off dress and person, and after inibbing and brush- 
ing five minutes before the fire, counted herself as good as 
new, and blithely resumed the blind and the game, as though 
nothing had happened. “ Crany-crow,” that most mirth- 
provoking, old-fashioned play, was another favorite ; but 
both this, “ neighbor froggy,” and “ hunting the slipper,” had 
something so ludicrous about them, that tlie little women, 
with some innate sense of dignity, played these alone. The 
cousins, Sadie and Nell, and this Nanny A., who were all 
of one age, — twelve : were all three famous leaders in the 
first game, but the latter two, usually officiated. Nell, quick 
and lithe as a mountain cat, and sharp as a fox, attacking 
the flock ; and Nan, slower but stronger, and bold and 
brave as a lion, defending them with all her powers. They 
dashed at each other with outspread arms, flashing eyes, 
and flying hair, like a pair of young dragons, and when 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


359 


fully roused ’twas a battle royal, a sight to see. And ever 
and anon, above the din, was heard the shrill scream of 
some hapless chick, that despite the mother’s efforts to 
guard it, was being dragged away to the witch’s den, and 
the witch’s oven. Once when this sport was progressing 
by day, the whole thing was brought to a pause by the 
incursion of one of the prohibited sex. Nell, as witch, was 
crouching in the centre, over a pile of chips, building her 
fire. Quite a string of girls were there this time, of all ages, 
from twelve to five or six, placed according to r^e, one 
behind another, each grasping the waist or dress of the 
next, like links in a chain ; the row beginning with the 
largest girls, and gradually tapering down with the least. 

At the head of this goodly brood. Nan A., as mother hen, 
was spreading herself, proud and fussy as a veritable biddy. 
It was too soon for war yet ; and all were marching round 
and round, asking flippantly at every turn, “ What time is 
it, old witch ? ” and singing with gusto the opening song, 
“ I went to the well, O crany crow,” etc. AVhen all were 
startled, confused, and their dulcet notes hushed, by a for- 
eign voice suddenly raising the same strain in a rousing 
bass ; and a great burly, bush-headed, overgrown boy of fif- 
teen was seen bringing up their rear, holding on to the last 
and least baby-girl’s dress, and mincing daintily round on 
tiptoe in comical imitation of her airy tread. Every one 
knew mischief-loving Dan G. as the intruder on this ‘‘ Prin- 
cess’ realm,” but the great good-natured giant looked so 
droU, that the entire hennery, witch and all, broke into a 
gleeful cackle. SfciU, their plumage was somewhat ruffled 
at the interruption of the rites, nor were they resmned tiU 
the strange bird was put to flight. 

On those winter eves such vigorous, healthful play was 
found so excellent a tonic, that by eight o’clock the children 
would agree that a lunch would be necessary. But they 
never troubled mamma or big sisters about it, but prepared 


360 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and laid it out themselves, all the essentials being found 
under their own roof in the store-room, to which they 'were 
allowed free access. According to the poet, a queen once 
dined on a ‘‘ radish and an egg.” And these small country 
folks found far more than these among their stores. They 
would first place a quantity of fine potatoes in the hot em- 
bers on the hearth to bake, then a row of apples near them 
to roast, and, later, a pot of eggs on the fire to boil. The 
cooking well begun, they turned their attention to the dried 
beef, ^his hung high overhead, but by placing the tallest 
child on the tallest stool, with orders to tiptoe it and make 
a long arm, a piece was always secured, which the boys 
knew how to shave down in large, thin, tempting slices 
with a plane. The meal thus gotten up from their ovm. re- 
sources, was served in the same way. They were wholly 
independent of the house and its ways ; nothing so conven- 
tional as even a dish or spoon being used. A broad white 
plank, fixed on two low stools before the fire, served as a 
table. Fresh, sweet-scented blocks and boards, great and 
small, round and square, as ware, and wooden knives and 
little hands as cutlery. A round block full of salt and a 
mug full of water, stood in the centre, common to all ; and 
when the tubers were crisp and mealy, the beef sliced, the 
eggs and apples done to a turn, all was arranged on the 
board, and the merry company sat down and enjoyed it 
well, the food being wholesome and abundant, and their 
fine appetites making the plain repast a feast. ’ Nuts and 
fruit came last, and with these came the stories ; for it was 
the law that each child must relate one at least. Wondrous 
tales they were — grave, gay, terrible ; some were original, 
but most old oral traditions, as the whole set had not one 
real story-book among them. And there they sat, laughing, 
shuddering by turns ; and listening and lingering, a charmed 
circle, till a message from their elders came by ten o’clock, 
or sooner, to chide their tardiness and break the spell. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


361 


What homely entertainments were these ! What rude 
surroundings! Yet to the simple, unperverted taste of 
childhood, here was bliss. Cheap pleasure, but more natu- 
ral, healthful, and unalloyed, than ever was found in splen- 
did drawing-rooms at the most expensive and elaborate 
child’s party or fancy ball. Yes, these were favored, these 
old-fashioned, unsophisticated, simply-fed, simply-dressed 
country children. And, haply, never anywhere, by old or 
young, were happier seasons known than those summer 
days among the sylvan haunts, and those winter nights 

around the work-shop fire. ^But while the greater part of 

both families were stiU children at play, Homer, grown ^ a 
great boy, was pursuing his studies in view of a profession. 
And Ted, a tall youth, was attending to the farm-work, and 
to the various hees as well. The two boys seldom, if ever, 
quarreled ; but were good friends and good fellows gener- 
ally, though some called the former proud, and both ego- 
tistical. Ted was sharp-sighted and quick at imitating an}’^- 
thing he saw done, but lacked patience to learn to do it 
well. Mr. Mead had always thought him too speedy and 
conceited to do things properly; and he became sure of it 
when Ted came to work a few months with him. It mat- 
tered little what the business was, Ted was ready for it. 
He knew how to do almost everything as well as the mas- 
ter, and some even a little better. When the latter ex- 
plained a job to him, showing how it must be done, Ted 
would listen and watch ; but not infrequently would re- 
spond, “ Yes, uncle, I see, but I can show you a better way 
than that.” Or, “ I know a quicker way to do it,” etc. But 
this conceit and want of thoroughness were about his worst 
faults ; he was prompt and active, and so good-humored 
and kind-hearted, that it was hard to be cross with him ; and 
many a time what would have been unbearable impudence 
in some, seemed only witty and amusing in Ted. 

At one time (probably after he left T.’s), the following is 
16 


362 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


reported of him that would have frightened most young strip- 
lings out of all presence of mind : On a cold, snowy day 
he had gone some distance with the oxen and sled, when 
the team became unruly, or in some way (not certainly re- 
membered) one of the oxen was killed. But Ted was equal 
to the emergency. Bushing into a house near, he got help, 
bled and dressed the animal ‘‘all right,” got his dinner 
wdiile it cooled, and then, getting the halves lifted into the 
sled, turned homeward. The owner, seeing him coming 
without the load he had sent him for, and with but one ox, 
called out in amazement : 

“What’s the matter? Where’s your load? Where’s 
Berry ? ” 

“ Oh,” said Ted, nonchalantly, “ the haste kiUed himself en- 
tirely ; but I’ve brought you his beef and his hide.” 

About the time Homer left school, and was considering 
what profession he had better choose, and was also begin- 
ning in a cool, stately sort of way to offer the ladies what 
admiration he could spare from himself, Ted, four or five 
years older, had already graduated in flirting, and was seek- 
ing a wife in earnest, and, it was said, with excellent suc- 
cess.* 

It was at this period that he was again at Mead’s for a 
season, and, as he had been almost like an elder brother 
among Frederick’s children, so here also, though using some 
authority over the little ones, he guarded and amused them 
too, taking, in one way and another, considerable care off of 
Elza. 

During his stay, Paul became much excited over a httle 
wagon he had seen. His whole heaH was set on having one 
too, and great was his joy when Ted promised to make him 


* When Ted professed conversion, his friends feared this conceit, 
etc., would mar his religion, and it did. Still they hoped and trusted 
the root of the matter was in him. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


363 


one. When it was begun, the anxious child hung round 
continually, watching every stroke with delight, and jealous 
of everything that interrupted the work, if but for an hour. 
It was getting on well; it might be finished in a day or two 
more, perhaps sooner ; but on Thursday Paul was surprised 
and grieved to see the work progress but slowly ; and his 
feelings rose to indignation when it ceased entirely, and the 
workman dressed and rode away. 

Losing his usual serenity, he rated the rover well for his 
unaccountable desertion; and his parents, thinking to calm 
and please him, revealed the secret. “ It was wedding day. 
Ted had gone to be married, and would bring back a bride.” 
But this item of news had no effect at all. Wliat was a 
wedding to a wagon ? A small, no account business, that, 
anyhow ; any time would have done for that ; but this work 
was impoiiant. And, glum and wretched, the abused little 
man stood by wheels, tongue, and axles, gazing sadly at every 
lonesome, disjointed piece, ready to cry with anger and dis- 
appointment, and answering to all, like the Jew, “My wag- 
on ! My wagon ! I don’t care for no old weddin’. I want 
my wagon. I won’t like Ted no more — ^he might a-stayed 
and done my wagon.” 

However, after a merry infare at Fred’s, and a week or 
two of jaunting and dining elsewhere, the truant returned, 
finished the wagon, and Paul forgave him and was happy. 

It was near this time, perhaps the same autumn, that a 
bee was held at Mead’s, which Frederick and family of 
course attended, and which was long remembered by both 
houses by an event the tidings of which reached them that 
night. This evening, as usual on such occasions, large prep- 
arations were necessary, and ttie huge clay oven had been 
filled and emptied, till piles of bread and long rows of pies 
and cakes fiUed shelves and dresser, and by dusk many other 
cookeries were begun also. Mrs. N. and two of the nieces, 
Lois and Ophelia, were assisting, preparing fruit and vege- 


364 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


tables, cutting up fowls for the pot-pie, etc. ; while Elza 
made the crust, issued orders, and answered questions at 
the same time. 

‘‘ Throw them to the hogs, Thelia,’’ had been her last order; 
and her next was, Bring me the chicken, Lois.” But 
the pail of rinds stood there safely, and no chicken could be 
found. 

“ Oh ! ” screamed Lois, Thelia’s took the wrong pail — 
the chicken’s thrown to the pigs ! ” 

None stopped to laugh or lament, but all flew to the res- 
cue. There it lay, strewn over the grass ; and they were 
barely in time, for the swine had scented the feast, and were 
just waddling up, grunting their satisfaction over the deli- 
cacy of their lunch. 

This odd peril and escape of their principal dish, added 
to other incidents and accidents, made much jesting in- 
doors ; and without, the men were equally merry. Egr be- 
sides their usual sport, with their captains and their races, 
they had something new to try their skill — not exactly a 

race for the bottle,” but a hunt for it, which happened in 
this way : All the evening Mr. Mead had been noticing with 
uneasiness that Ed F. and Jem E. were imbibing too free- 
ly; but it was almost as delicate and difficult a thing for an 
entertainer to check his guests’ drinking as their eating. 
Still, if no one else did, he must ; for at this rate they would 
surely go home intoxicated, and perhaps abuse their fami- 
lies. And it occurred to him that the neatest wa}^ and 
least likely to give offence, would be to get the fire-water lost. 

Whether the motive made this bit of strategy, this pious 
fraud, right or not, the actor thought it did, and he accom- 
plished it cleverly. Pretty -soon, says Ed. to Jem, “Let’s 
have a drink”; and he started for the jug, but could not 
find it ; and Jem followed, and he could not find it. And 
two or three others came to their aid and searched, with no 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


365 


better success. “ Mine host ” was called and told of the loss, 
and he searched, — ^but — did not find it ; and then the news 
was made public, and the hunt became general. Both 
sides joined in the sport with spirit, laughing and cheering, 
every one bound to be best fellow. They leaped over the 
com, tore through the husks, and peeped into every corner, 
but nothing was discovered. To most it was a mere frolic, 
a large, lively game of “hide and seek’'; but to the poor 
inebriates, and two or three others in a less degree, it was a 
real business, and a trial when no gin was found. 

But now happily came a summons to supper, and in the 
rich variety of well-cooked viands and cheering cups of 
fragrant tea and coffee, their miserable craving and restless 
thirst were satisfied, the lost jug was forgotten, and for once 
these worst topers went home from a husking quiet and 
sober. 

This same night came a message from the South. Eow- 
land was dead ! And the laughter and hilarity of the even- 
ing changed to tears, and ended in gloom ; a gloom and 
grief that would have been crushing, but for the one blessed 
hope, that with him it was weU, — forever weU. As Kow- 
land’s practice and income had been large, and his home 
elegant, he had been reputed wealthier than was tme ; for 
his expenses also were gTeat. His wives (who singularly 
enough had both been widows of officers, who had fallen in 
the same battle),* had been reared in affluence, and knew 
little of economy ; and both alike had brought him quite a 
retinue of colored house-servants, making the expense of 
keeping up such large, wasteful establishments very heavy. 
Then dying very suddenly, in the midst of his days, aU his 
affairs passed into the hands of strangers, and according to 
their account, when all was settled, and themselves liberally 


* Massacre of the river Raisin. 


366 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


paid, there was no great amount left for the only child, 
Edgar. When asked to choose what articles he would have 
reserved from his father’s house before they were scattered, 
he glanced over the list of plate, china, pictures, etc., and 
boy-like chose his watch first ; but some of the other arti- 
cles the executors set aside for him also. Though only 
fourteen, he was soon after removed from school and 
placed as assistant in a clerk’s office : where, as he Avrote 
rapidly, and a remarkably fine, clear hand, he received a good 
salary. But though bis duty was done well, he felt it so 
confining and irksome, that after three years he wrote to 
his father’s family, desiring to spend some time with them 
and finish his education, as he had doubtless been apprised 
by them that a small legacy awaited him there. Eor though 
Rowland had generously refused to take any portion of the 
parental estate, saying, ‘‘they had already given him all he 
asked or wished in his education yet his good father had 
wisely persisted in leaving in his will a certain sum subject 
to his order, which would now materially assist the son. 
So his letter being answered favorably, and his guardians 
consenting, he resigned his place there, and started north- 
ward, arriving first in V- , where he stopped some 

months with his uncle and aunt Elmer before proceeding 
further. The young Eastern kinsfolk had heard all their 
lives of this Southern branch of the family, till everything 
connected vdth it seemed historic. Their parents and 
grandparents had talked fondly of Howland, describing his 
person, peculiarities, and virtues : and related tales and 
incidents of his childhood and youth ; and some of the 
neighbors, too, had vied with them in this, taking a pride in 
their old-time playmate’s success, and lauding and exagger- 
ating the grandeur, style, and fashion of his house and 
family, till to their unsophisticated ears it sounded like a 
chapter from a romance. It is little wonder then that the 
expected visitor should cause some sensation among them, 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


367 


especially among the girls, who thought of him as the com- 
ing hero. It was midsummer when he came, and as he 
stopped first at Mead’s, Lotta and Florette saw him before 
any of the other Pa. cousins, and have left this account of 
the event. They (they said) were in the garden gathering 
currants when he arrived, and concealed themselves behind 
the bushes, till they could reach the house unseen, and run 
up-stairs to dress. Flo would laugh when describing their 
appearance, saying, “We were at the very greenest, homehest 
age, and in our plaid cotton frocks, home-spun, and home- 
made, I daresay we were frights.” But Lotta, less critical, or 
more self-complacent, would interrupt her with, “ No, no, 
Flo, we looked very well, and were then, and always, 
dressed like other girls.” But let that pass. When ready, 
they went down and followed mamma, shy and blushing, to 
the parlor, where papa sat with the guest. He rose as she 
pronounced . their names, and came forward to greet them, 
and glancing up they saw before them a slender, dark- 
haired, dark-eyed youth of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in 
a light gray summer suit, with a gold chain and seals at his 
side. He had the neatest of hands and feet, the whitest of 
teeth, fine features, and a winning smile ; his voice and lan- 
guage were cultured, and his manners easy and refined. 

How their beauty faded ! How their best rustic manners 
and rustic ornaments dwindled to nothing, beside those of 
the handsome, graceful stranger’s. AVhy, his watch and 
chain alone were worth some hundreds of dollars, — had cost 
more, maybe, than everything in their house. And then 
his air! how grand it was. And this, then, was the long- 
talked-of visitor ! This was he 1 Hugh Edgar Trauhe, the 
Southern cousin 1 

The same evening several of Fred’s family called to see 
and welcome their kinsman, and with laugh and jest stole 
him away from Mead’s, and bore him off in triumph to 
grace theii* place awhile. But important as he was in all 


.368 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


these young eyes, and in his own, only the briefest sketch 
of him can be given here. Free and lively in disposition, 
but a short time sufficed to make him acquainted with both 
families, and to fairly install him among them as visitor, 
student, and boarder ; for though he began his studies 
almost immediately with a competent teacher — he was a 
day-scholar, returning to one or the other of these homes 
at night. Like his father, he was a tireless reader ; and 
with a keen sense of humor, laughed by the hour over Gul- 
liver, Hudibras,- Don Quixote, and kindred works ; a^d like 
him, too, prized sohd literature as beyond price. But un- 
like him, he was not at all serious, or fond of sermons ; 
saying flippantly, ‘‘ I had enough of being stifled up in hot, 
sweltering churches in father’s time, — but need not go 
now.” However, seeing all his friends going habitually, he 
often accompanied them, and owned that their preacher 
was really learned and talented as well as pious.* 

Lesser foibles came to view, one by one ; but little Eose 
Mead was the first of all to find them even in his manners, 
that aU had judged so courtl}^ Silent and diffident, yet in 
her infant heart, she secretly admired the family idol as 
much as any one ; and feeling that she too should offer 
something at his shrine, one day sought out the largest, 
roundest, reddest apple extant, and sidling coyly in behind 
his chair, laid her gift lovingly in his hand. But busy with 
his studies, the thoughtless ingrate received it in silence, 
and, after one taste, with a growl and grimace at its sour- 
ness, flung it from the window ; a piece of rudeness that 
Bose in a long lifetime never forgot. 

He did not seem haughty never held himself aloof ; but 
went everywhere with his cousins, and played his part well; 
made friends with the neighboring lads ; waited on the 
girls with a grace and devotion that won all hearts; and as- 
sisted cheerily at whatever was going on. 

When at the Gale flax-pnlling, a lingering drizzle came 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


d69 


on, driving all indoors, a few of the boys volunteered to re- 
turn to the field and pull till supper and playtime if Mrs. 
G. could find them wraps. Hugh was among these, and 
donning a long-tailed drab, a real fatherly old coat of daddy 
G.’s, he sallied forth, and worked and joked with the best. 
But the trouble was, however much he seemed to enjoy 
these country bees, and by his wit and spri^htliness helped 
others to enjoy them too, yet he invariably came home to 
laugh at everything. He found endless food for mirth in 
an outdoor fete he once attended in the extreme back- 
woods, where the head of the table was graced by a roasted 
ox, standing upright with an ear of corn in its mouth, sur- 
rounded by a quiet family of pigs and lesser game dressed 
and arranged in the same fashion. Besides Adam’s ale and 
old rye for drink, there was a mighty wassail bowl of egg- 
nog, of which every one was expected to taste, each and all 
drinking from the same vessel. And then, too, he said the 
attitudes and speeches of the orators, and the toilet of the 
ladies, were alike indescribably funny. Nor did his kindred 
wholly escape, for he satirized many things in both estab- 
hshments. At Fred’s the bill of fare did not always suit 
his dainty palate ; and vexed at the want of a room exclu- 
sively his own, he often deserted rooms, friends, and all ; 
and scaling a wall, climbed to the third story, and read and 
wrote by the tiny four-paned window beneath the rafters ; 
the cousins retaliating, by dubbing this dark, dusty, rat- 
haunted garret “Ed’s office.” 

The M.’s table he always praised. “Uncle Dauph is a 
famous provider,” he said ; “ and Aunt Elza a prime 
cook.” But then, various other things were wrong. The 
house, for instance, though built and furnished in the very 
best style of the times, was not to his taste. 

“ Aunt,” he began one day, as he loUed in the shady yard, 
and viewed the structure critically, “I was just thinking 
what a famous fire this old wooden building would make.” . 

16 * 


370 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


“ Yes,” she assented, glancing at the shaky log kitchen ; 
“ that old-time cabin does disgrace our house, and Mead in- 
tends soon to demolish it.” 

“ Ah ! ” he returned, laughing, ‘‘ but I referred to all parts, 
— the entire mansion ! ” 

But Aunt E. resenting this insolence, he finally apolo- 
gized. 

By and by, !^ederick proposed finding him a clerkship 
again ; but when the place was ready the clerk was not. 

“ Uncle,” he said frankly, “ I had rather not accept it. I 
really should be much mortified if any of my city friends 
saw me located in a place like B ! ” 

Then Fred’s wrath arose. He consulted with brother 
Mead, and both uncles agreed that the position was a good 
one. They would willingly see their sons filling similar 
ones. Edgar was too high-minded by far ; proud and poor, 
etc. 

But to be brief, at the end of two years, both parties mu- 
tually weary of each other, they parted. Without consulting 
any of his kin as to means, plans, business, or place, the or- 
phan took his leave, and they saw him no more. 

Grandma Bessie excused him as much as possible, and 
gave him a parting gift and blessing, and Elza did the 
same ; for, after all, he was dear Howland’s child, his only 
child, and they loved him for his sake. And more than one 
fair maiden wept his departure, and through life kept a 
niche in memory sacred to this hero of her earhest dreams, 
— Hugh Edgar TrauHe. 

Poor Ed ! few of his Northern friends loved or praised 
him ; for, though he had various good traits, his airs and 
eccentricities were too many; yet much might be said truly 
of these, in excuse and explanation. Left so young, without 
parental care or restraint, it is no marvel that he should 
grow somewhat wayward, or that one entirely city-bred 
. should not at once take kindly to country customs. Accus- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


371 


tomed to the fashion and style of a capital, where, even 
at that early date, six, or seven hundred dollars was 
not an uncommon outlay for an evening party, the best 
country *bees must needs look cheap and small, the best 
country mansions plain and ill-fumished. 

And when mere neighbors remembered and described 
the elegance of his father’s house, long after it had gone to 
strangers, and fifty years after his death, still boasted of his 
wit and eloquence,* and told of the crowded coui*t-room 
that hung on his pleading, it was but natural that his son 
should remember it too ; perfectly natural that this un- 
formed youth should talk with pride of the brilliant past, 
and sadly contrast it with the poor, ]3rosaic present. 

But, beyond all else, perhaps, the faults of Hugh were at- 
tributable to the influence of the spirit of slavery that then, 
as always, degraded labor. Having seen it performed only 
by slaves, he was naturally disconcerted here on seeing 
everybody, rich and poor, so busy. Those who had servants, 
generally worked too, often harder than their slaves ; and 
many, his own kin included, kept none at all. These hired 
help, both black and white, when necessary, but only as 
help ; for uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, all worked, too, 
at something. IJone dawdled aimlessly, eating the bread 
of idleness ; and even the small school children had their 
night and morning chores to attend to, as well as play and 
lessons. But, of course, this frugal, wholesome mode of life 
did not seem pleasant to prince Edgar, nor even respectable; 
and it is not strange that his strong prejudice against it. 


*For instance: Once, a slave was to be hung (whether by a court 
or a mob, is uncertain) ; but Rowland, convinced of the poor, friends 
less wretch’s innocence, stepped forward, and voluntarily plead his 
cause ; and such was the effect, that not only was the prisoner’s life 
spared, but he escaped without any punishment at all. All the crowd 
just before thirsting for his blood, rejoicing in his escape. 


372 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


should at times reveal itself in what to his industrious 
friends appeared like insolence and ingratitude. 

They parted coldly, and he returned South, where, after 
some years of study among his father’s friends and col- 
leagues, he entered the bar ; but, of his after career little is 
known. T^or a short time, at first, he wrote to his old tutor, 
and occasionally to Homer also; then all communication 
ceased, and an alien and a stranger from the home of his 
fathers, this only son, sole child of the idolized Eowland, be- 
came thenceforth nothing to his kindred.; nothing but a 
name ; only a memory and a name. 


CHAPTEK XLI. 

** Afflictions come not singly, but in battalions.” 


“Alas ! for the clay that is resting now on darkened eye and faded 
brow, 

Wo for the cheek that hath ceased to bloom, for the lips that are 
dumb in the silent tomb I ^ 

• How shall I fix on earth’s beautiful dust, ever again my heart’s 
deep trust ! 

What can the void in my bosom fill ? Oh, that my treasure was 
with me still ! 

Alas ! for the hopes that with thee have died ! O darling ! would I 
were by thy side. 

For all that was lovely to me is th^re ; weary is life and a load to 
bear.” 

TO j. w. 

Little or nothing has as yet been said of Frederick T.’s 
wife, Katrina Van Costo, though, like her famous namesake, 
the heiress of Van Tassell, her gifts and graces were many. 
She was descended from an old family in L , and con- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


373 


nected with several other families and individuals there, some 
of whom rose to distinction in their day. But whatever 
some of her kin had attained to,' Katrina herself had 
sounded no seas of knowledge, knew nothing of fashion- 
able accomplishments, and had no special taste for science 
or literature. What she was noted for and excelled in were 
personal charms, sense, affection, and domestic virtues gen- 
erally. In person she was what the story-writers call “ a 
perfect woman in miniature for her figure was very 
small, yet moulded like a Hebe’s ; her features delicate 
but beautiful ; her complexion the purest rose and lily ; 
her hair a rich golden-brown, sweeping to her waist. When 
Fred led his little bride blushing and trembling to the 
altar, so soft and coy, so dimpled and fair, all the guests 
looked on smiling and admiring, if not env^dng ; and yet 
some of the more practical could scarcely avoid, even there, 
doubting the wisdom of his choice. “A lovely bride ” she 
was certainly, but what kind of a farmer’s wife would she 
make ; how would such a dainty young creature answer as 
the mistress of a family ? To them, ‘‘ she looked far more 
like a plaything, a pretty child to be petted and amused, 
than the head of a house.” 

But this proved a false induction, for whatever her ap- 
pearance was, there was nothing doll-like or childish in tlie 
little madam’s character. On the contrary, it was soon dis- 
covered that she had not only a will of her own, but sound 
sense and good judgment ; and though so young, was al- 
ready an expert housekeeper and clever manager. No 
garden around throve better than hers ; no dairy was neater ; 
and, as for baking, brewing, pickling, and preserving, she 
rivalled Dame Primrose herself. Besides all this, she often 
kept two women spinning while her own active hands found 
time to run the loom. Of German descent, she spoke that 
language fluently, and often mischievously launched sud- 
denly into it, when inconvenient youngsters or other bab- 


374 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


biers entered. She could tell of many strange customs, 
legends, and superstitions of ‘‘ fatherland,” that lent a 
charm to her society ; and immortalized herself among the 
children by the eclat with which she kept the Christmas and 
other holidays, adding new rites, new cakes, new games, 
and teaching them also to exchange visits, gifts, and glad 
greeting with each other, thus making these joyous seasons 
more joyous still. Believing such small fictions harmless, 
she it was who first told them of Santa Claus, and taught 
them to prepare for him by hanging their stockings in the 
chimney-corner, and making ‘‘ rabbits’ nests ” of their clothes 
in all the empty chairs around their beds to hold his gifts. 
The whole tribe of unwholesome candies being then nearly 
or quite unknown, “ white loaf ” and maple sugar ” were 
used in their place. And on rising the little ones would 
find their nests and hose ” peopled with whole families of 
dolls, cats, dogs, balls, and so on, of sweetened dough, 
swelled to true Dutch stoutness in the frying ; and, better 
still, with articles of pure sugar — such as twists of taffy, 
stars, hearts, marbles, and eggs. These latter, made by 
filling the empty shells (through a small hole) with the 
heated nectar, where it soon hardened, were usually sent 

from S , but were such great favorites, that little A. 

wisely suggested the naturahzation of the producers of such 
saccharine goodies. 

It was a high day, and, proud and hap^oy, she was hover-- 
ing round a small nest of them, when she asked, suddenly : 

“ Mamma, why can’t we have this good sort of hens too ? 
I want sugar hens, to lay sugar eggs for us.” 

New Year’s day was also celebrated by Katrina with due 
ceremony, and Easter also. At the latter feast she taught 
the children new and amusing ways of preparing their eggs, 
especially the boiled ones, which by her direction were often 
dyed black, red, yellow, green, or some other color ; and droll 
pictures, names, dates, etc., being etched on them with a 


/ 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


375 


knife or darning-needle ; they were sent round something 
like the comic valentine of this day, to please, or tease the 
receiver. 

Once Max received a long double-egg, dyed love’s own 
hue, and bearing this delicious bit of doggerel : 

Max Mead and Dolly May, 

Happy are they this Easter day.” 

But Max, who abominated jokes at his expense, soon 
smashed the painted shell, legend and all, and ungallantly 
devoured the contents himself, instead of presenting it to 
little Dolly, or at least sharing it with her, as he had ought to. 

On All - Hallow - Eve, under her instruction, the boys 
and girls tried their fortunes, gaining wide views of 
the future by such black arts as “ tossing melted pewter 
into the air,” plunging a handful of disjointed letters into 
w^ater, counting apple seeds, and throwing the rinds over 
the left shoulder ; breaking the merry-bone, eating a salt 
cake, tying toes together, and twenty other devices. This 
nonsense made much sport, and might have passed as play 
if it had stopped there ; but two of the actors, Flo and 
Lida, getting excited, and anxious for some more definite 
knowledge of coming events, once came near turning the 
jest to earnest. 

Starting one day for Mrs. N.’s, they strayed off two or 
three miles beyond to consult a (reputed) real fortune-teller. 
They came to N.’s as they returned, and Flo, overcome with 
weariness, or, perhaps, with the greatness of her promised 
fortune, fainted away almost as soon as seated in the house. 
As the road had been very rough, as well as long, this fine 
enterprise cost them no little fatigue, and ended in a sol- 
emn lecture and sharp rebuke from their parents. And as 
none of the brave tales they had feed the old Gipsy to tell 
ever came true, the young misses concluded that they might 
as well have waited for time to tell their fortunes, after alL 


376 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


A great many jests and merry pranks were also perpe- 
trated in these old-time Hallow-Eves by the young men, 
who, g.athering in clans, roamed about through the night 
doing any, and every bit of wild mischief that came into their 
heads, and generally the first business for householders 
next morning was to search it out and set it to rights. 
Chimneys would be found stopped up ; yards littered with 
cabbage-heads and other vegetables that had been fired at 
the house ; carts, sleds, plows, almost eveiything movable, 
might be seen stacked, pell-mell, one on another, or, worse 
still, they had vanished to parts unknown, to be hunted and 
brought home. Often a grave old farmer discovered that 
one or more of his wagon wheels had been borrowed and 
not returned ; and occasionally he missed a door, window, 
or something else from an out-house, and found it on the 
top of a haystack, or some such handy place. Once some 
bold young Samsons lifted a huge gate from its hinges, 
and, bearing it to the top of an adjacent hill, hoisted it into 
the midst of an oak tree, where it hung next day, a new and 
curious feature in the sylvan landscape 

From childhood up, Fred T. had been favored not only 
with unbounded spirits, but with a constitution that noth- 
ing seemed to injure. His feats of strength, the surprise 
and envy of his peers, were highly imprudent; and though 
he heeded heat and cold scarcely more than his horse, and 
a ducking little more than his spaniel, yet sickness never 
came nigh him. No kind of weather stopped him if wish- 
ing to go out, and if in haste, he had been detected in 
smuggling on hnen steaming with dampness, saying light- 
ly, “ It’s no use to wait bothering to dry clothes for such 
wet travelling, and you know nothing ever hurts me.” And 
away he would gallop five or six miles through the rain. 

Of course his mother often blamed him, telling him 
“ such careless exposure would show its effects by and by 
and a common remark of his father’s was, ‘^Fred, you will 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


377 


be an old man while yet a young one/' But Fred felt as 
though he never could be sick or old, so this wise counsel 
did little good. 

But at length the tide turned, and these halcyon days were 
succeeded by starless gloom and waves of trouble. Grief* 
and reverses followed so swiftly one after another, that Fred 
felt like Job, and began to realize that much that he had 
once considered but poetic hyperbole, such as, “’When afflic- 
tions come, they come," etc., might have been wrung from 
bitter experience. 

First came the sad vigils with his father — his long, dis- 
tressing illness, extending over four years, and ending in 
death. And soon after, a second deep wound was inflicted 
by the unexpected misfortunes, and sudden death of his 
only brother, Rowland. Near the same time his own health, 
that he had deemed woU-nigh indestructible, began to fail. 
Keen sciatic pains seized his limbs, and a weakness and 
trembling like palsy crept over his frame. Truly, as he had 
been warned, he felt like some “ decrepit eld," though yet 
in his prime. The best physicians could give no permanent 
relief, and at the end of two years, new and alarming symp- 
toms appearing, they pronounced the case hopeless. He 
might linger a few weeks, possibly. Still, if there was any- 
thing he wished to do or say, there had better be no unnec- 
essary delay.” 

Less shocked than they had feared, the patient heard the 
verdict calmly, thanked them for their long and faithful at- 
tendance, and, acting on their advice, began to set his house 
in order. There was much to do ; but, happily, the great 
work of life was already done. Long before, he had pro- 
fessed religion and united with the church of his mother, 
and believing that he had a good hope in Christ, and could 
die in peace, he turned his chief attention to the welfare of 
those Tie was leaving. He had a large family now, mostly 
young daughters, the eldest girl scarcely seventeen, the 


378 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


youngest but an infant ; and as Homer’s location was fixed 
elsewhere, the principal care must necessarily fall on the 
wife and mother. Knowing this, the doomed man roused 
all his flagging powers, and resolutely set himself to the task 
of making her burden as light as possible. Business was 
settled, accounts squared, improvements and repairs on farm 
and buildings finished, stock sold, purchases made — in short, 
all that could be done and planned for her comfort and con- 
venience was done. 

But the husband w'as restless still; and often while walk- 
ing with her through their pleasant rooms, leaning on his 
staff, or sitting beside her in the gloaming, he talked anx- 
iously of her future — ^that future he was not to share. 
“Could she, all unaided, govern so large a family, and 
watch over its destiny for two worlds, or would her strength 
endure the strain when his cares also were added to her 
own? Would an inexperienced female be able, after all his 
instruction, to understand business so as to oversee it prop- 
erly ? Could she manage such and such points alone, or 
surmount this difficulty or that, when he was gone ? ” Thus 
he queried sometimes with her, oftener with himself; some- 
times hopefully, as he considered how far-seeing and capa- 
ble she was in her own sphere — anon doubtfully, as he re- 
membered how totally unacquainted she was with his. But 
the little wife happily was not easily depressed. NaturaUy 
brave and hopeful, she calmed the invalid’s fears and 
strengthened his confidence by responding to all his moods 
Avith cheerfulness. 

“ Yes, yes,” she said, “ she understood all his plans and 
wishes. His business should not be neglected, nor the chil- 
dren miss his care. She would strive to be botli father 
.and mother to the orphans. And as his own loving hand 
had arranged everything well for his family, he must trust 
that all would go on well, and rest in peace.” 

These free conversations Avere salutary. While they famil- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


379 


iarized both with the idea of parting, it was some relief to 
him to find that it was to one as firm and strong-hearted as 
she was loving, that he was leaving his fatherless children. 


Among the last articles that Frederick had purchased 
for survivors, was one that particularly pleased both him- 
self and his wife. The tall eight-day brass clock, reaching 
from floor to ceiling, then just coming into vogue, was the 
costly novelty of the day ; and he had determined to pre- 
sent one of these as a rare and stately keepsake to Katrina ; 
a monitor, to mark the time for her, when for him there 
should be time no longer. It and other articles had been 
ordered and expected against a certain day, but had not 

yet arrived In that age, a belief in dreams, tokens, 

etc., was very common ; and about this time, Katrina re- 
ceived so strong a presentiment of a “quick coming” 
funeral, tha# it impressed her very deeply, and she also 
described it with startling distinctness to others. And these 
heard and answered according to their belief or disbelief 
in such things ; but all, in one way or another, connected the 
vivid impression with the looked-for event, and instinct- 
ively thought of Fred. But the wife continued doubtfully : 
“ This scarcely seemed to be Fred’s funeral ; it must be 
that, though, poor dear, for he’s going fast, but it did not 
seem quite that either.” And Fred thought as he listened, 
and smiled incredulously at this conversation, that if such 
things as tokens did exist, except in people’s fancies, yet in 
his case, one was scarcely needed, as the dullest eyes could 
see that, for him, the grave was waiting. And then the sub- 
ject was changed, perhaps forgotten ; and by and by w^hen 
the husband and wife were alone, and talking quietly of 
common affairs, he told her he had had word from J., a cer- 
tain promise, that they were not again to be disappointed 
about their late purchases, as the more important part of 
them, at least, would certainly be there on Tuesday. The 


380 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


clay came, — ^but not the presents ; and yet truly, it brought 
things new and strange. It brought a shroud — a coffin — 
a grave. But not for Fred,— for Katrina ! 

Taken suddenly ill on Sabbath evening, before danger 
was realized, or the physician she had refused to have called 
earlier, could arrive, she was gone ; died after but a few 
hours’ illness, and was buried on Tuesday. Said an eye- 
witness, verging on his fourscore years and ten : “I was 
young then, but never in my long life have I seen another 
funeral like that. I see it yet, — the throngs of strangers 
standing in groups without. The crowd of friends and 
neighbors sitting within ; mourning with the mourners in 
the desolated home, mingling their tears with theirs. The 
pallid spectre-husband, bowing now over the wailing babe 
in its cradle, — now over the mother in her coffin ! The un- 
controllable grief of the children, sobbing aloud in unison ; 
pressing together, dismayed and bewildered like frightened 
lambs. So suddenly made motherless, so soon to be fa- 
therless, what a scene it was at the house, on the way, at the 
grave! All was lamentation and woe, and every tree an 
Allon-Bachuth. A few days after, all was over ; the long- 
looked-for goods arrived, but the o^vner was not there. 
And hearts bled afresh, as each article took the niche that 
she had appointed for it ; and the stately time-piece began 
to peal forth its silver chimes ; but all too low to rouse the 
sleeper, all too late to count the hours for her, who had 
numbered her days, and changed time for eternity. 

And Katrina, buoyant, blooming Katrina, was dead, and 
Frederick was living I It could scarcely be beheved or re- 
ahzed, yet so it was. And stranger stiU, his symptoms 
slowly changed for the better, — ^the disease in a much 
milder form becoming chronic, but being no longer danger- 
ous Not long after the wife’s death, probably it was 

the following summer, his third daughter Bose, blooming 
as her name, sickened, and died after a fortnight’s suffering. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


381 


Delirious more or less throughout, little conversation was 
held with her, and probably she never knew what prayers 
ascended around her bed. But there was some consolation 
to her friends, in knowing that the saving truths she had 
been learning all her fourteen years had been well remem- 
bered. The poor wandering mind still hovered round the 
story of the cross ; and the fever-parched hps whispered it 
in broken sentences, and disjointed texts, over and over. 
But the dark angel had other missions still. A few more 
moons “ waxed and waned,” and then : 

“ Over the river, the silent river, 

He carried another, the household pet.” 

In the case of this chdd, who died at two years old, there 
occTUTed the phenomenon sometimes witnessed, of seeming 
health returning just before death. The child was with his 
maternal grandparents when taken with malignant croup. 
On the last day, toward evening, he grew easy, and lay 
quiet for some time ; then rousing up, smiled brightly on 
his mu’se, and insisted on leaving the cradle. When seated 
on the rug, he was ready for play ; and soon spying his 
grandpa’s Sunday slioes, made a sally on them, capturing 
first one, then the other ; when he proceeded to try them 
on his own feet, try them on his hands, tug at the shining 
buckles with tooth and nail, and amuse himself in true 
baby-fashion, like a child in health. But all the pretty 
gambols did not deceive the wise grandma. “ Sweet dar- 
ling,” she said, it’s struck with death ! It’s playing and 
dying ! ” And true enough, ere the turn of the night, the 
dimpled limbs were cold and still forever. This was the 
second child Fred had named for his brother Rowland, and 
now, both were gone. But he had one more son, a sprightly 
lad of ten ; and on this, his own namesake, he built many 
a hope for the coming years, — hopes and dreams that were 
never to be realized. 


382 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


One morning the little Frederick was sent on some er- 
rand about the stock in a distant field. It was a fair, still 
autumnal day. The “ soft southwest,” toying languidly with 
the “ many-colored woods,” scarcely fanned his ruddy cheek 
or stirred the golden hair. Wild grapes were purpling on 
the vine; brown nuts were rustling to the ground. Black 
sloes were in their prime, and various birds, chirping and 
feasting among their boughs, peeped forth at him as he 
passed. Squirrels, bustling and busy about their winter 
stores, sto23ped here and there to mark his approach, and 
bark and scold in mimic wrath at the intrusion. A fiock of 
loquacious crows held high conference on a tall, dead tree, 
and from their lofty perch cawed contempt on all beneath ; 
while their second cousins, the jays, paused now and then 
in their plundering, to shake their azure plumes and retort 
saucily from their lower perch in the fields of ripened 
corn. 

Among all these rural sights and sounds, now whistling, 
now singing, care-free and joyous as the merry creatures 
round him, the happy boy bounded along. 

A lovely walk it was — and it was his last. Eeturning 
home, he went to report the success of his mission, and 
lingered a little to prattle of what he had seen. But seeing 
his father engaged with his papers and accounts, he pres- 
ently left him and went out to where some work was going- 
forward ; and this was the last time he was seen by him 
alive. Not twenty minutes after he had left the house, he 
was carried back a bleeding corpse. Some stay in the ma- 
chinery had given way, a shaft had fallen, and in a moment 
crushed out the glad young life. 

And the father — the woful father ! Now, truly, friends 
feared for his reason, as he fell to the earth beside his dead, 
and begged and prayed for death, entreating one and an- 
other, like him on Gilboa’s heights, for mercy’s sake to end 
his misery. Life was a burden more than he could bear ; 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


383 


death a blessed, welcome boon. Thus he cried and called 
on heaven and earth in a perfect frenzy of grief and despair 
that none could comfort or quell. But happily this fearful 
phase soon passed; and when some degree of self-control 
was gained, he began to notice and strive to calm the wail- 
ing, horror-stricken children — a task that others had essayed 
in vain. 

Only the four little girls were with him during this fiery 
ordeal, as the three elder children were absent at the time, 
and at such a distance that, with the slow mails of that date, 
they could not even hear of their brother’s death till days 
and days after he was buried 

The checkered life of Frederick T., well told, would fill a 
volume itself ; but suffice it here to say that, despite all his 
trials, he lived on — ^lived to drain many another bitter cup 
of sorrow, and also to receive many mercies — see many 
good days. With memory strong and reason perfect to the 
end, he survived to ripe old age, enjoyed the satisfaction of 
seeing his family generally prosperous and happily settled 
in life, and his descendants of the third generation prattling 
round his knees.* 

But let us leave these strictly domestic events, and turn 
to others. 


* The disease that had attacked him forty years before and followed 
him ever after, increased tenfold in violence during the latter part of 
his life, and of it he died at last. 


384 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEE XLIL 

This was the crowded street, our Apjnan way, the nation’s thorough- 
fare. 

Black deed ! Cursed deed ! The all-seeing eye, the solemn heights 
looked down, 

The grim crags watched, the dark pines saw it all : 

These the sole witnesses — Nature and God. 

The leading article in a solid New York; magazine for 
November, 1879, is devoted to the “Old National Pike,” 
with charming illustrations. It says : 

“Henry Clay was its chief supporter as weU as projector.* 
It was excellently macadamized, furnished with fine stone 
bridges, iron sigmposts, and strong iron toll-gates.” .... 
There seemed to be an endless procession of figures. There 
were sometimes sixteen gaily-painted coaches each way a 
day, and the cattle and sheep were never out of sight. The 
huge “ canvas-covered wagons were drawn by six or twelve 
horses, with bows of bells over their collars The fam- 

ilies of statesmen and merchants went by in private vehicles; 
and while most of the travellers were unostentatious, a few 
had splendid equipages, and employed outriders. Some of. 
the passes through the AUeghanies were as precipitous as 
any in the Sierra Nevada, and the mountains were as wild.” 
In its palmy da3^s, “ the traffic on this highway was as dense 
and continuous as in the main street of a large town.” 

The author having seen but a slight synopsis of this arti- 
cle on the “ Old Pike,” knows not what other features were 
added to the picture, but is aware that many others might 
have been given, such as the frequent panic and stampede 
those long lines of four-horse coaches, thundering by one 


Others say Gallatin suggested the idea. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


385 


after another, caused among other timid travellers, making 
them clear the way at double-quick and seize their horses’ 
heads, that often grew as wild and unmanageable as when 
meeting a train of cars now. 

Then there was the daily advent of the pompous post-boy,* 
who in fancy livery, on fiery charger, with blare of trumpet, 
rushed by at headlong speed, scattering shouting urchins 
and barking curs east and west in his course. 

The Chief Magistrate, as weU as his senators, often passed 
this way to take his seat ; his coach watched for in the Pike 
villages, and greeted with waving flags and joyous cheers. 
Grave Indian chiefs, decked with plumes and paint, marched 
solemnly along this noisy thoroughfare, going to have their 
“ talks ” with the “ Great Father ” at the capital, on their 
treaties, their rights and their wongs. 

Poor red man ! forever falling before the pale-face. In 
every age robbed, banished, betrayed. Justice tarries yet ; 
his countless wrongs still cry to Heaven for vengeance. 

The tender heart of Bessie often mourned over the woes 
of the Indians ; but there was another sight that at times 
disgraced this great national road, and gave hints of a sys- 
tem she deemed more base and cruel still. Bands of men 
whose only crime was their color, fettered and chained to- 
gether as felons, might be seen passing by, guarded by horse- 
men with threatening whips, driven along like beasts toward 
the Southern market. With all they loved left behind them, 
weary, foot-sore, heart-sore, the ranks filed slowly along the 
white, dusty, flinty road. Past the strong iron sign-posts, 
through the dark iron gates, on, on, to hopeless, endless, 
‘‘ unrequited toil,” far from home and friends. 


* The section from Cumberland, Md., to Uniontown, Pa., 62 miles, 
was awarded to William Morris and Alonzo A. Littell at $5,000 a 
year. The journey was performed in 6 hours and 18 minutes, being 
the fastest overland mail (then) in America. 

17 


386 


ROSE AJ^D ELZA. 


‘‘ To love and hope in vain, 

And wear their lives away. 

In the fields of rice and ’bacca, 

Or die ’mid the cotton and the cane.” 


While travel was so immense on the “Pike,” smithies 
spmng up on every side, and inns with their huge watering 
troughs, and handsome sign-boards, proffering entertain- 
ment for man and beast, abounded and prospered. Ser- 
vants, both maids and men, were kept moving, but liked the 
high wages and bustle of such places. “ Mine host ” was 
usually a bold, jovial, free-spoken fellow, prone to take a 
nip at his own bar, and more or less profane except before 
ladies. The hostess was almost invariably kind, hospitable, 
and tastefully dressed, and not unfrequently cultured and 
well-bred, a true gentlewoman of the old style. 

Some of these establishments offered stalls for a hundred 
horses ; and as fourteen covered wagons, with their teams, 
six, eight, and twelve strong, sometimes stopped overnight 
at one house, all were needed and more. 

Soon after this route came into use, artists and other 
travellers of taste began to stop off for a day or a week in 
Fayette County, to enjoy the scenery, and visit its places of 
historic interest. And after the Fayette Hquse was built, 
and the virtues x>f its springs proved, invalids from various 
points gathered there for health, while others followed for 
pleasure, till the mountain inns could receive no more. 

And so much did these city folk enjoy their cool retreats, 
with their pure breezes and whispering pines, that they 
were in no haste to depart, some of them lingering there the 
^ summer through. 

The neighboring citizens too, in village and country, be- 
gan to drive up occasionally with their families and guests 
for a day’s recreation on the hills — which habit has now 
become weU-nigh universal ; but it was not learned from 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


387 


the fathers. The pioneers had more than enough nature all 
around their cabins, and were too busy toiling to change its 
wild beauty into decent corn-fields, and thrifty potato 
patches, to indulge sesthetic or antiquarian tastes. Fight- 
ing the wolf from the door, literally as well as figuratively, 
was not favorable to sentiment and romance. 

True ^‘Washing-ton’s First Battle Ground,” “Washing- 
ton’s Spring,” “ Fort Necessity,” and “ Point Lookout,” etc., 
were household words, and almost any mother could point 
her children to the bald heights of Dunbar’s Camp, and tell 
them of Jumonville’s Hold and “Braddock’s Grave”; but 
they were content to talk of them at a distance ; and though 
every deep gorge and high peak of the mountain was known 
and named by them, they seldom or never visited them ex- 
cept on business, to obtain wild fruits, nuts, game, etc. 
Such a thing as a party of grown persons going there sim- 
ply for pleasure was unknown. But after the discovery of 
“ Delany’s Cave,” some few — one here and there — had the 
curiosity to go alone or with a chum or two, to examine it, 
but none ventured in very far. 

At length two young fellows determined to “stand no 
more nonsense.” They were “ the boys,” they said, “ what was 
agoin’ right through that pokey cave.” And they set out 
for it, both bound by a vow, more profane than pious, to 
find the end, or die in the attempt ; and whether they found 
the cave’s end or not, they did come very near finding their 
own ; for, to be brief, they lost their way, their lights 
burned out, their food was spent, and there they were, far 
under ground in the midst of a labyrinth of dungeons, with 
no cue to an outlet. 

For a while there was united effort to find the way ; com- 
panionship in misery ; but by and by, in their fright and 
bewilderment they drifted apart, and for hours and hours 
each wandered, and searched, and groped through the black- 
ness alone — climbing, creeping, stumbling, falling, bruised, 
foot-sore, famishing. 


388 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


And when, completely worn out, they could drag their 
weary limbs no further, each sank down where he was, afar 
from the other, alone to die. And thus they were found on 
the third day, each in his grizzly cell, that but for timely 
aid would have proved his tomb. 

After this affair, further trouble was feared ; and to pre- 
vent it, the door of the cave, which was but a meagre en- 
trance at best, was entirely closed, and aU trace of it con- 
cealed by a heap of brushwood. This was about 1800 or 
1801 that it was closed, but how long it remained so is un- 
certain, though it could not have been long, as soon after 
Fred’s marriage we find him with his Katrina and several 
others, married and single, planning an excursion to it. 
Elza promised to accompany them too, on certain condi- 
tions ; for though keen for adventure, she was rather timid. 

“ There must be abundance of light, and plenty of twine 
to unwind as they went in.” 

“ Yes, yes, we’ll have no end of light, Miss Elza,” cried 
Ben B., “ and a whole peck of twine.” 

And this and everything being settled, all met at Fred’s 
in the early morning of a fair summer’s day; and then it 
was, 

‘‘ Away to the hills, away ! 

After a merry ride of some miles, they reached the top of 
the ridge, and stopped just where a high, densely wooded 
knob rises abruptly from its summit. At the foot of this 
peak they found a small pit, not unlike a huge funnel, and 
in the lower side of this pit, an orifice, some three feet high, 
appeared, opening into a deep, murky, muddy passage, de- 
scending some twenty-five feet into the earth. This was the 
first view, and a forbidding one it was. 

When the leader waved his hat, exclaiming that this was 
the beginning of the wondrous cave, the ladies shook their 
heads, feeling as neighbor Pliable, that he ‘‘ might enjoy the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


389 


brave country alone for tliem,” for they would never go 
cringing and creeping into such a gloomy, slimy, suffocat- 
ing den as that.” However, after a little coaxing and reas- 
suring, all consented to start at least. Every one bore a 
flaming pine torch ; the guide also carried tinder-box and 
extra candles, and Elza’s own careful hand anchored the 
cable at the door, and unwound the ball. 

They did as folks do now — ^looked and admired, talked and 
sang, drank from the gurgling spring, wrote their names on 
the granite waU ; and this was done so indelibly that Elza’s 
name was read there by her children thirty years after. 

They returned safely, feeling well repaid. And this was 
among the first (it is believed was), the very first visit made 
to this place by ladies. The dimensions of this cave have 
been variously estimated, some saying that if all its wind- 
ings were measured, they would extend over four or five 
miles ; whilst others say that, after a tolerably thorough 
survey, the furthest point they were able to reach with com- 
pass and chain was less than a mile and a half. But very 
probably there are many other halls that are yet inaccessi- 
ble. The rooms are of divers shapes and sizes. After go- 
ing through a long passage, the first room is found to be 
nearly triangular in form, and from fifty to sixty feet wide. 
“Chapel HaU is very large, but the next room, though 
smaller, is loftier, the ceiling at some points rising from 
eighty to one hundred feet. The last room is at least 1,500 
feet perpendicularly lower than the entrance, and in some 
paiis the descent is very rapid — ^ten or fifteen feet at once. 
At one point there is an abrupt descent of twenty-five feet 
through a small crevice in the rocks”; and this grim, dark, 
dangerous stairway some weary wight has given a naughty 
name, the “ Devil’s Chimney.” 

“ Almost throughout, unseen water is heard running be- 
neath the floor, and one stream is visible for several hun- 


V 

390 ROSE AND ELZA. 

dred feet, showing by the wash along its bed that at times 
of high water it is strong enough to turn a grist-mill.” * 

While prosy visitors see nothing in Delany’s Cave but 
huge rocks, a hard road fco travel,” and clusters of sleeping 
bats clinging to the walls, 'others see much and imagine more. 
The timid glance uneasily round these dreary depths, con- 
necting them with the thought of wild beasts, toads, rep- 
tiles, and all uncanny things; and start at the gliding shad- 
ows, thinking of lurking robber or wandering ghost. The 
poet exults and finds inspiration amid these deep solitudes, 
and calls his muse to celebrate its “ awful cells ” and long- 
drawn aisles.” The amateur savant grows excited over 
blocks of spar, and fervid at the sight of stalactite and sta- 
lagmite pendant from the dome or springing from the floor; 
or, marking a fossil shell, dreams of the lapse of time since 
these were ocean caves, and hears the wild Atlantic surging 
and booming through its caverns. But the belle and beau 
who are there only for fashion’s sake, trouble their heads 
with no such rubbish. The whole thing is a bore. When 
others pause to enjoy the views, marvel and exclaim, they 
pause for a bit of gossip. While he twirls his mustache, she 
adjusts her bangs. They remark on the cave costumes of 
their friends, and admire their own, or discuss the latest 
novel, the new song, the last party, the expected wedding, 
the coming ball, or other matters equally relevant. But 
tastes will differ — ^let it pass. 

Some six miles southwest of Dunbar (where troops of well- 
trained soldiers’ orphans now man the fort, and gather the 
rust-eafcen relics of the French war), another noted peak 
rears its piny head, and sighs forever, like ‘‘ Pelion to the 
fields of Thessaly.” This is Pine Knob, which, from spring 
to late autumn, parties are continually ascending. 


* These figures, etc., are taken from ‘‘Poets and Poetry of Fay- 
ette County.’,' 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


391 


On a clear day the naked eye sweeps a mighty panorama ; 
and assisted by a good glass, it is said that from this peak, 
one can trace, or look beyond, the course of three rivers, and 
view the hills of three counties. 

Sometimes the pleasure is varied b}^ turning from distant 
prospects to those nearer. I see everything,” cried one, 
boasting of the strength of his glass that had drawn the 
adjacent farms and hamlets to his feet. “ I can see a mos- 
quito buzzing through M (two miles distant.) ‘‘ Pshaw,” 

returned his friend, coolly, “ that’s nothing, I can see it’s 
eyes ! ” But such clear views are not had every day, even 
from this fine natural observatory. Four miles south of Pine 
Knob, and three miles north of Delany’s Cave, on the south- 
western slope of Chestnut Bidge, there stands another 
object of interest, named by the pioneers White Eock. 
This is a ledge of sandstone, some say a quarter of a mile 
long ; but as it extends under-ground, none can tell how far, 
covered with trees and bushes, its exact size can not be 
determined. But what is visible measures some 738 feet 
long, and most of this is one solid table-rock, from forty to 
fifty-two feet wide. As it forms a part of the hillside it 
slopes with it, a regular down-grade from east to west its 
entire length, and being smooth and shppery as a floor, 
proves to some a rather uncei-tain promenade. It is the 
northern side that joins, and is level with the surface of the 
ground ; while the southern side is one continuous preci- 
pice from end to end ; as has been said, several hundred 
feet long, and between fifty and sixty feet high. A long, 
narrow cavern runs under the ledge half or two-thirds of its 
length ; but in some past convulsion of nature the rock has 
been rent for 150 feet perhaps, leaving this lower end of 
the cave roofed only by a slender strip of sky and dimly 
lighted ; * while the upper and much broader part with a 

* Formerly two very large birch trees sprang from the floor of this 


392 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


ceiling some ten yards thick is in inky darkness. Just outside 
this cave, and in some other places, the sides of the rock 
are worn into smooth, undulating grooves, one above another, 
evidently by the action of water; but how formed, and wdien ? 
Some affirm that ‘‘ our AUeghanies are the eldest born of 
mountains.” Is this, then, the trace left by waves ere God 
had set the “sea its bounds when “ darkness was yet on 
the face of the deep,” and against this occidental Gibraltar, 
its black billows dashed and broke ? As to color, this rock 
has always been called white, and this, and light gTay, are 
the prevailing tints, though dashes of dark gray, black, and 
other shades abound. But a slight remove, blends all these 
into one, and seen from a distance, glinting under a sum- 
mer sun, against the dark hillside, aU hues are softened to 
whiteness, and it looks fair and unstained as an avalanche of 
Alpine snow. Looking forth over the billowy green, from 
this shimmering island of stone, it is seen environed with 
hiUs on every side. Those on the west, slope downward 
below it, and gradually decreasing and receding for a league 
or less, sink to gentle swells, and unite with the country, 
that dotted with hamlets, forges, and fai-m-houses, stretches 
• away toward the setting sun ; but at other points, the silent, 
solemn peaks, rising far above, — ^look down on it forever, 
and standing like mighty sentinels, watch it through the 
slow-passing ages. 

On the southern side, a little below the main rock, others 
still more rude and picturesque rise, as high as it, and per- 
haps a fourth as long, that would be deemed huge, were 
they not thus dwarfed by comparison. And just here, the 
shelvy steep begins to descend rapidly toward the base of 
the next hiU that rises immediately opposite, leaving a 
shady ravine between.* * 

long alley ; their thick boughs reaching to the top of the rock, and 
making the place still more sombre ; but they are now dead, and 
nearly mouldered away. 

* There has been some change in the scenery surrounding- White 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


393 


Above the rocks, taller trees, oak, pine, chestnut, etc., 
abound ; but below them, the growth is mostly a thick 
copse almost impenetrable, except as traversed by narrow 
foot-paths. One of these winding ways presently leads down 
to a deep, cold brook, whose soft crystal waters from some 
lonely, far-off spring, warble over gray boulders and mossy 
stones ; its banks fringed with ferns and creepjers, and 
overarched with laurels, brown birch, and silver beech. 
While graceful vines creep and climb from bough to bough, 
and cling, and twine, and intertwine, and fling their light 
sprays abroad to float on the waters and wave in the breeze. 
This is one of nature’s sweetest nooks ; a fitting haunt for 
nymph or naiad ; a perfect gem of wildness and beauty. 
Another path leads round through brake and bracken, and 
an endless profusion of gieenery to the foot of the cliff, 
where in places evergreens chiefly prevail And here, gay 
kalmias, and queenly rhododendrons spring and flourish 
like willows by the waters ; cling to the frowning precipice, 
draping its cold, white walls in fadeless verdure, and pour- 
ing forth their most lavish wealth of glorious bloom in its 
shadow. 

But, notwithstanding aU its picturesque charms, and poetic • 
surroundings, this place was Httle known and seldom seen 
till the tragedy of 1810 brought it into general notice. 

The story of Miss Williams has been repeated hundreds 
of times during the past seventy-four years ; yet despite the 
contempt often poured on a ^‘twice-told tale,” the reader 
will bear with it once more, especially as this version is de- 
rived from the best authority. 

Years ago, when Hon. J. Yeach, of Uniontown, was pre- 
paring his work on Fayette County, he requested the 

Kock since this description of it was written ; one or more fierce fires 
having destroyed some of the evergeens, and other shrubbery and 
trees, and the tread of many feet having somewhat widened the nar- 
row foot-paths. 

17* 


394 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


mother of the writer to furnish one chapter for his book 
on this subject, including the elegies by herself and brother, 
and all the facts and details that could be collected. She 
consented ; and, to refresh her memory, went over the whole 
case anew with several of the old citizens, some of whom 
had assisted in the search for the murdered girl, and been 
present at the inquest, burial, and trial. And though it was 
mid -winter, she also drove some thirteen miles to interview 
Major J. Moss, the guardian and friend of the hapless maid, 
whose house* had been her home, and from whence she 
had been decoyed away to meet her fate. 

She found the old gentleman of sound mind and strong 
memory, full of the matter she was interested in, and as 
ready to impart information as she to receive it. He con- 
firmed the data she had already collected on the case (one 
or two mistakes in names excepted), and gave her many 
further particulars. This conversation with him, and others 
also, can not be fully reported; but the substance condensed 
was taken down at the time, and will all appear in the nar- 
rative here, further on, and in foot-notes. 

Mr. M. said the W.’s were poor, but worthy people, and 
• Polly, their daughter, was a very fair young girl, of artless 
manners and irreproachable character. Owing to the cir- 
cumstances of her parents, the daughter, when she could be 
spared, aided them by supporting herself elsewhere ; and 
much, if not most, of the time when from home, was spent 
in his family, where she was always welcome, and treated 
more as a child than a stranger. 

While yet very young her beauty f and innocene attracted 

* This house, where Mr. M. then lived, was one mile south of New 
Salem ; and a mile and a half distant lived the lover ; and there his 
father and brother lie buried. The rest of the family went West. 

f Reliable portraits of this famous pair would be most interesting 
to many ; but all we can know of them now is through the casual 
descriptions left by their contemporaries, some of which have de- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


395 


the attention of a man of some wealth and standing in the 
community, a Grant Fielding, and he became her most de- 
voted admirer. 

A year or so after this acquaintance began, the Williams’, 


scended to us ; but as tastes and judgments will differ, there is some 
discrepancy in these. As to Miss W., some called her a pure blonde; 
others, a mixed one. One presents her as with blue eyes, and golden 
curls floating round her neck ; a sweet creature, but not over-wise ; 
more like a frank child than a reserved woman. Others, including 
the Mosses, thought her as wise as pretty ; a staid, sensible damsel 
till bewitched by this designing villain. Says Mr. E. : ‘‘ When a little 
boy I frequently saw Miss W. and her lover, with whom she seemed 
fascinated. The last time I met her she was riding out, and kindly 
made me ride behind her, to rest me. I don’t recall her gown, but 
she wore a black fur hat, with a black ribbon crossing it, and tied 
under her chin. She was a pretty girl, poor innocent ! and I remem- 
ber her well.” Another calls her “singularly beautiful.” Another 
says: “My mother knew her well, and thought her lovely, but too 
credulous and confiding,” etc. But whether wise or unwise, whether 
simply pretty or rarely beautiful, all authorities agree that “ she was 
a maiden fair to see”; in the first bloom of youth, and, until this 
baleful attachment, as innocent as fair. 

Of the lover’s appearance less has been said, though there are still 
extant partial descriptions of him, and generally favorable. One, in- 
deed, terms him ‘ ‘ a short, thick, heavy-set man, rather unprepossess- 
ing, both in looks and manners”; but the common opinion of men 
seems to have differed from this, and that of the ladies differed widely; 
these usually considering him a portly, fine-looking man, and an eli- 
gible match. They mentioned him as “ A genteel young man”; as 
“ rich and handsome ”; “a taking young fellow,” etc. An intelligent 
old lady who had “ danced with him many a time,” describes him 
“manly and agreeable, with a winning manner, and a smooth, be- 
guiling tongue, well fitted to attract and fix the affections of a fond, 
unwary maiden.” Some say his family was proud and wealthy ; 
others modify this into “a family in good circumstances and good 
standing.” But most authorities agree that the son was heir pre- 
sumptive and expectant to a large estate from a childless relative, and 
that his friends, especially his mother, scouted the idea of an alliance 
with the W.’s as entirely beneath him. 


396 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


who were not prospering, hoping to better their condition, 
resolved to emigrate. But Polly’s heart was with her lover, 
and she was not wilhng to leave him, for they were now en- 
gaged ; and the parents, unwilling to mar her happiness, 
finally consented to leave her in the care of their tried 
friends, the M.’s, till her marriage. 

The poor parents started on their weary journey sad, and 
yet glad. One of their dear ones at least was provided for. 
Whatever befell them, thank heaven there was an easy, 
happy life in store for Polly. So the friends fondly trusted; 
so the maiden dreamed. Ah 1 who can forecast the future ? 

After their departure the suitor still continued his visits 
as usual ; but the union seemed to recede rather than ap- 
proach, and he was constantly framing excuses for deferring 
it. And as months passed on in this way, her guardians 
became anxious and distrustful, and began to strive to wean 
her affections from one they thought unworthy. Told her 
plainly they ‘‘had lost all faith in his honor, and believed 
him a base, false trifler, who would never fulfil his engage- 
ment,” and strongly advised, and almost commanded, her to 
dismiss him. But she, loving and trusting still, defended 
him; said ‘‘the delay was not his fault, but that of others ; 
he was only waiting for a more favorable time ; as soon as 
his family became reconciled they would be united imme- 
diately.” But though not always ready to obey her friends, 
Polly was always ready to listen to them, and in turn con- 
fided all her plans, hopes, and fears to them. 

It was not long after this that a horrible suspicion began 
to haunt her; this, that Grant did not intend marriage, but 
murder! And, in an agony of grief, she poured the sto- 
ry of this new dread into the ears of her amazed listeners. 
They were acquainted already with some of the particulars* 


* Some of the circumstances that had so excited her suspicions were 
these : Some time previous to this G. had called on her and proposed 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


397 


she related, and fully credited all she added, but could not 
tell whether the construction she put on them was entirely 
correct, or partly the effect of fear or imagination. But at 
all events they felt certain that such an attachment as this, 
and such an engagement, boded no good, and should be 
dissolved, and that now it could be easily done ; but in this 


consummating the long-deferred nuptials that week if she would ac- 
company him to C and be married privately. She consenting, 

they started at the appointed morning, but returned the same even- 
ing, saying “ they had been disappointed in finding a boat.” This all 
her friends knew and remembered ; but Polly now added a sequel: 
‘"They might have crossed,” she said, “ only F. refused to approach 
the common ferry, saying they would go to a point higher up and 
sail over by themselves in a small canoe ; but finding this gone, he 
had said, ‘We must put our affair off again, it seems,’ and turned 
back.” For leading her to this lonely spot, to trust herself on the dark 
river in so frail a <5raft, and with so unskilled a boatman, he had of 
course to plead the need of secrecy, which was a plausible excuse. She 
had accepted it then unsuspectingly; but since that, and especially 
since the M.’s had discountenanced him, he had repeatedly urged her 
to meet him in other dreary, unfrequented places, to meet late in the 
evening, and two or three times these night trysts were to be held 
near some deep water ! Once the place he chose was by the Finley 
mill-dam, and once or twice it was to be on the banks of Middle 
Creek. His pretence was an opportunity to talk and plan further 
about their union ; but she now believed that on all these occasions 
he was planning her death — this opinion being confirmed by the fact 
that since these expedients had failed, he had presented her with a 
harmless-looking vial of some pleasant essence, but with a manner so 
strange and sinister, that she dared not use it, but carried it to a per- 
son having some jinowledge of drugs, and the test had certainly de- 
tected poison, (f) 

[ (t) This note belongs more properly to another pnge, but may enter here.] A 
chum of F.’s stated that three Sabbaths before the White Rock murder, he and F. 
were there together. After looking over the crags and caves awhile, they sat down 
and the latter remarked once or twice: “It’s a good place,” “ The very place,” 
etc., and then turned it off with a je^t. Doubtless he was then meditating the 
crime ; and Mr. J., thoughtless and irreligious, but no villain, grieved that he had 
unwittingly abetted it, and aided him in choosing the scene. 


398 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


they were mistaken, for when her friend, Mrs. M., cried out 
vehemently : “ You shall never see the wretch again, Polly ! 
He’ll murder you yet. You shall never meet him more,” 
the poor, fond, weaJr creature sobbed out that she could not 
give him up ; she had rather die than that ; would as soon 
be killed as forsaken. 

This, of course, was the langniage of passion ; but even in 
cooler moments, though often dejected, at other times the 
infatuated girl would express a hope of yet seeing happy 
years with her lover ; so that her friends were more dis- 
pleased than surprised on discovering that he was again 
communicating with her, that new vows had been made, 
and an early day set for the marriage. 

They soon heard all the details, for, as usual, Polly con- 
fided all to them — ^the odd arrangements for the nuptials, 
Fielding’s good reasons for them, and everything, which, 
summed up, were about these : As she had often said, 
his family were to blame for the long delay; but he was 
determined now to follow his own wishes, and be hindered 
by them no longer. Still, to provoke them as little as pos- 
sible, and avoid trouble and a scene, he proposed that every- 
thing should be done quietly, and be for a time kept pri- 
vate ; and this was his plan : He could leave home without 
suspicion, as he had a known engagement with his uncle 
during harvest. She must leave M.’s by another route, 
and join him at a point beyond the bounds of their own 
neighborhood, and from thence they could proceed safely, as 
a pair of pedestrians in ordinary dress would attract no at- 
tention among strangers. After being maTrried by an ob- 
scure ’squire, who lived on the side of the mountain, they 
would stop at his uncle’s place that lay near its foot,* and 
stay till his friends became reconciled or more reasonable.” 

But all this was not told without many interruptions from 
her listeners, who over and over exclaimed excitedly that 


* Now the Robinson farm. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


399 


she should not go.” She “ should meet him no more. He 
would kill her yet — she had said so herself with many 
similar expressions. But those horiid revelations she 
had made formerly, Polly now seemed willing to soften 
or forget, and, in spite of all that could be urged, began to 
prepare for her morrow’s journey. 

The short summer’s night soon passed, and the cloudless 
August day began. With the earliest da\vn Polly was stir- 
ring, and came into breakfast ready dressed, and anxious to 
be gone. Arguments and warnings were tried again, but 
all in vain. Nothing less than force would detain her, and this 
they had no authority to use. And as they could do nothing 
more in the case, they began to console themselves with the 
hope that nothing needed to be done. “ There might be no 
danger at all. Probably those shocking ideas of her lover’s 
evil intentions in the past might have been mostly imagina- 
tion. PoUy was the only witness, and she seemed to make 
light of them now, and was trusting him more than ever. 
Possibly the young scamp really meant to marry her now; 
or, at worst, it would only, prove another disappointment.” 

Yet with all this reassuring, Mrs. M. bade good-bye sadly 
and watched her out of sight with tears. It was a last adieu. 

This was Tuesday, August 13th (some say the lOih), and 
on Saturday some thirsty berriers (boys and girls),* seeking a 
spring below the rocks, were frightened at the sight of a par- 
tially concealed object. It was certainly a human fcnrm — seem- 
ingly a woman’s corpse. They all rushed homeward, pale and 
breathless, saying, ‘‘ Somebody was dead at White Bock.” 

Pew heard it that night, and as it was dark and rainy^ 
nothing was done till next morning, when word was sent 
round the settlement. It came early to Fred and his neigh- 
bors, who started at once, meeting more and more on the 
way, till quite a number were gathered to go and test the 
story. It proved only too true. Just beneath the highest 


* These were Sue F., Anne S., Bess W., and Hugh Wilson. 


400 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


point of the precipice, half concealed by a shelving rock, 
they found the corpse, that of a woman — a fair young girl, 
a stranger, that no one knew. And this was the bride of 
Tuesday — this was Polly! Poor, trusting dupe! Poor, 
helpless, butchered lamb ! 

The weeds, moss, and undergrowth for yards around the 
rock, and on it, showed signs of a desperate struggle. They 
were broken, torn, and trampled to the earth ; and among 
their crushed, withering leaves lay her hat and comb, and 
near by one of her slippers. Further on, the other slipper 
was found, and in still another spot her kerchief ; while her 
white arms, from elbow to shoulder, bore the purple prints 
of the barbarous hands that had clutched them with savage 
strength, and dragged her by main force to the awful 
verge. 

Half way down the side of the precipice, a laurel bush, 
springing from a crevice, had been caught at in her fall, and 
the dead hand still grasped the broken bough. But^-pparent- 
ly, after all, the fiend had doubted the thoroughness of his 
work, and, climbing round the crags, had crept to her side, 
and struck the bleeding, dying girl again, to make all sure ; 
for there were two gaping wounds on her head, and a rough, 
bloody stone lay near by. 

Some of the company were almost unmanned, but there 
was no time to indulge weakness, and, covering the pitiful 
sight from view, they began to address themselves to what 
there was to do. A messenger was dispatched to Union- 
town for the coroner. A detail began to cut and clear a 
path through the dense thickets ; and another, constructed 
of green boughs and bands of hickory bark a rude bier 
on which the corpse was secured, and borne slowly down the 
steep, rough mountain path. At the house of M. Nixon 
they halted and turned in. Here the corpse was kept all 
night, but no friends appearing to claim it, and none know- 
ing who or where they were, it was on Monday carried to 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


401 


Hayden’s graveyard, followed by a long procession, and laid 
by strangers’ hands in a stranger’s grave. 

Meanwhile, as P. was only remaining away as she had 
arranged to do, the M.’s were content, trusting she was now 
a wife and her worst troubles ended. ¥or did they or he:: 
other acquaintances hear anything concerning her from the 
bright day she started away to be married, till after her 
funeral, when news of the event reached their neighbor- 
hood. But as this flying rumor only stated that “ a strange 
man had been found dead,” Mr. M. said he never thought 
of connecting this report with either the bride or groom of 
Tuesday; but not so his wife. The moment he told it to 
her, she started up, and cried out in horror : 

‘‘ It’s Polly Williams ! It’s no dead man ! It’s Polly, 
murdered ! Oh, Polly, Polly ! ” 

Thoroughly roused himself now, he mounted his horse 
and rode away, determined to find his ward dead or alive. 
But hearing several times on the road that the person found 
(and already buried) was not a man, but a young woman, 
and the description seeming to answer well for Miss W., he 
was somewhat prepared for the truth, yet could not but 
watch the disinterment in awful suspense. The moment 
the face was exposed he recognized it. The dead was a 
nameless stranger no longer. Alas ! too well he knew it ! 
knew that this was Polly, the only remains of lovely Polly. 
Sight was proof enough for him ; but doubting jurors and 
quibbhng lawyers might demand more. And, controlling 
his feelings as best he could, he proceeded (aided by others) 
to examine and identify the dress. This had been given the 
deceased by Mrs. M., from a web of her own weaving, a piece 
of which he produced. On being compared, all saw that 
bars, tints, texture, were the same ; and he then and there 
affirmed “ that this was the dress Polly Williams wore from 
his house, and that this was her body.” 

But there was no time for grief; other duties pressed. 


402 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


This blood must be avenged. The murderer might even 
now be flying, and, scarcely waiting to see the grave refilled, 
the major galloped away to advise the authorities. 


And where through aU this was the lover, the groom ? 
Among a thousand falsehoods to his dupe, he had told some 
truth. 

He had a wealthy uncle residing near the mountain. He 
was expected there to spend some weeks, and he went there 
accordingly. And through all those days and nights that 
the mangled bride lay like a dead, dumb creatiu’e where 
she had fallen, with no watch but the frowning crags, 
mourned only by the drooping pines and the faUing ram, 
he was safe and well at the farm he had told her of, from 
whence the dark hill that held his black secret loomed ever 
in view. How he appeared during this time is unknown ; 
but a young man from his own place gave Mr. M. some 
account of his movements on Sunday. 

M. Durby said he and Fielding were both engaged to assist 
this uncle through harvest ; and while they were at break- 
fast, some one called to them that some children had re- 
ported seeing a corpse lying under White Eock, and the 
men were gathering at N.’s to go and make search.” Pres- 
ently Fielding rose from the table and took up his hat ; but 
instead of starting for the rendezvous, or showing any natu- 
ral excitement or interest in the startling story, he remarked 
carelessly that he “ thought he would go home.” This sud- 
den freak took every one by surprise, and all began to coax 
him to remain and question his motives ; but, without mak- 
ing much excuse or reply, he persisted in his intention. 
Then, this young Durby said, he also was seized with a 
strong and unreasonable desire to accomjpany him ; but 
this proposition, of course, was met by another shower of 
questions and remonstrance, none opposing it more stoutly 
than Grant Fielding himself, who raised all kinds of objec- 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


403 


tions to his going ; and at length waxed impatient, saying, 
plainly, ‘‘ he did not care for his company, but would rather 
go alone.” Bjit seeing that opposition had no effect, he 
gave it over, grew more civil, and they started away to- 
gether. 

But very soon D. noticed that his companion seemed un- 
like himself, and ill at ease. He was continually looking 
back, and every eminence they gained would half pause, 
and give a searching glance in all directions ; while every 
horseman that met or passed them seemed to startle or an- 
noy him ; and presently he proposed that they should leave 
the highway entirely and cross the farms. Young D., in 
much surprise, asked : 

“ What for ? ” 

“ The roads will be foul travelling since the rain.” 

^ But the fields will be ten times worse.” 

Fielding said he preferred them, at any rate, and, climb- 
ing over the fence, added : 

“We can take our shoes off, if necessary.” 

And this they soon did, walking barefoot mile after mile ; 
and though in corn-fields, marshes, and meadows they often 
sank ankle-deep in mud and water. Grant would not return 
to the road ; though when in sight of it, as they often were, 
he would glance at it uneasily. 

But wherever they were, he seemed restless. In the 
midst of fields aud woods, even, would keep looking over 
his shoulder, and starting at every sound and shadow. 

This odd, childish, fidgety behavior vexed and puzzled 
D., who could see no cause or excuse for it ; but when, a 
few hours later, the officers appeared, demanding his late 
comrade as a felon, he saw it all. 


The lover was arrested on suspicion, and tried for the 
murder, the dead girl being (it is said) a second time roused 
from her slumbers to witness against him But the 


404 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


evidence, though abundant and of the strongest kind, was 
purely circumstantial ; and the jury deciding that no posi- 
tive proof had been given, finally acquitted him. 

Some things connected with this case were, at the time, 
thought very singular. One was, that after a terrible death, 
and days and days of exposure in midsummer, the dead 
face should still remain so fresh and natural as to be rec- 
ognizable at once. And another was, that this friend of 
Fielding’s, who had no knowledge or suspicion of the 
truth, and no motive at all for going, should have persisted 
against his will in joining him in his long, useless walk, 
inwardly influenced and impelled, he knew not why, to dog 
his steps ; follow, like a detective, noting every look and 
word. These, and other things, were by many considered 
providential, specially ordered to aid in bringing the truth 
to light and the guilty to justice. But when no justice was 
rendered, when all ended in acquittal, this explanation 
seemed at fault ; and the why and the wherefore can never 
be known. 

But though released by judges and jurors * as innocent, 

* The names of all connected will interest some now. 

The inquest was held before Coroner Blank, by these twelve jury- 
men : John Oliphant, M. Nixon, Benjamin Brownfield, Sr., Col. Ben. 
Brownfield, Jr., Wm. Nixon, Christopher Brown, Robt. Johns, Wm. 
Smiley, Stephen Mackay, Jr., Jno. Knight, Jacob Nixon, Thomas 
Wynn. 

On .the 22d of August the Grand Jurors met. Names : Benj. Rob- 
erts, Tho. Coon, Alex. Hunter, Hugh Shotwell, Jos. Torrence, Da- 
vid Porter, James Winders, Andrew Moore, Robt. Long, James Mor- 
rison, Jos. Wood, James Downard, Jno. Robinson, William McClel- 
land, Jos. Prior, Moses Hop wood, Wm. Roberts. 

On the 22d of Nov., 1810, a jury was sworn to try the case. List : 
John Stack, Eph. Hewitt, Jno. Inks, David Newbern, Henry Troth, 
Jno. Core, Jma. Rodgers, Jno. Grindle, Jona. Morrison, Eli Hainy, 
Jno. Boyd, Joel Ball. Judge Roberts on the bench. Assistants, 
Judges Brading and Finley. 

The sheriff was Jac. Harbaugh. Lawyer Ross plead for prisoner. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


405 


the community held him guilty. Public opinion was over- 
whelmingly against him, and veneration for law and order 
alone preserved him from vengeance. 


lawyer Jennings for Commonwealth. Some of the witnesses were: 
David Latimer, Sam’l Moser, Smith Mclntire, Major and Mrs. Moss, 
and many others. All the principal witnesses were required to give 
$100 bail each, for their appearance. A desperate effort was made by 
the defence to prove that the deceased had fallen, or thrown herself 
from the precipice ; but the trampled ground and weeds, the broken 
bushes, everything on and around the top of the rock showed evi- 
dence of a long and fearful struggle, forbidding such a thought. A 
late writer more than intimates that “ several prominent persons busied 
themselves”; that “ there was skillful manipulation in the case,” etc. 
So that, though the “ judge’s charge to the jury was strong against 
the prisoner,” they acquitted him. 

The sheriff, who was acquainted with the family, used to relate this 
instance of the mother’s haughtiness and hard-heartedness : When 
he went there on his dread business the mother saw him first, and 
as doors and windows were all open, he overheard her remarks. She 
began chiding P. about “this breach of promise case,” not though for 
breaking his vows, but for ever making them to so poor a girl, and 
then for remaining where they might cause him trouble. “You had 
better have gone away when I bade you,” she was saying, in a peev- 
ish, disgusted voice. “Now, here’s an officer, and you’ll have to 
marry her.” The sheriff’s blood was up,* and he retorted bluntly and 
hotly, “ It’s worse than that, madam ; the ‘ girl’ is dead, and I come 
to arrest him as the (suspected) murderer'" Then ensued a scene in- 
deed He had no sympathy for the parent, but the frantic 

grief and terror of the young sister was pitiful to see. 

One thing that seems almost incredible to ladies now,, is the v^alk 
mentioned as taken by Miss W. , for, by the circuitous route followed, 
the poor girl was led that burning August day to toil over a distance 
of thirteen or fourteen miles. Such a long, weary wslj, to die. But 
such walks were not so uncommon then ; for instance, a married pair 
living in Georges township occasionally went to Laurel Hill on Sab- 
bath morning, enjoyed a couple of sermons, and returned the same 
evening, making in all a walk of some eighteen miles (some say 
twenty miles). 

On that memorable midsummer’s day there was a quilting-bee at a 


406 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Soon after the eyent, a stone was placed at the ill-starred 
maiden’s grave, of the kind customary then, though rather 
higher. It is of gray sandstone, slightly ornamented, and 
bears this inscription : 

“ Sacred to the memory of Polly Williams, who was found murdered 
at White Rock, August, 1810. Aged 18 years. 

Behold with pity, you that pass by. 

Here doth the bones of Polly Williams lie. 

Who was cut off in her youthful bloom 
By a vile wretch — her pretended groom.” 

By whom this stone was reared is a mooted question. 
The rhymes have frequently been ascribed to Samuel L., 

house standing among the foot-hills of Chestnut Ridge ; and Granny 
D. used to relate that on her way to it, she saw a youg couple passing 
at a little distance, and starting up the hill toward White Rock. She 
noticed nothing particular about them, except that the girl was quite 
pretty, and looked hot and tired, and that both were in ordinary dress, 
like persons “ going huckle-berrying.” .... At the quilting, two or 
three of the women had each brought a little boy or girl along, and 
these, with those belonging to the house, soon went to ramble and 
play without, while the mammas and aunties worked and talked 
within. Both parties were soon interrupted. It might have been an 
hour, or less, when Mrs. B., sitting next the open door, started, and 
dropped her needle. What is that ?” she cried. Do you hear 
it ?” And she ran out, followed by the rest. Yes, all heard now. 
Seemingly at a distance, and yet cutting sharp and distinct through 
the drowsy air, shriek after shriek pierced their ears. High, shrill 
screams — the voice of child or woman, in wild terror or mortal 
pain. Every mother turned pale. The children ! the children ! 
Bitten by mad dog or serpent ! Fallen from a tree ! Killed or 
maimed some child was surely. And each thought, “Is it mine?” 
as all rushed out calling their names. Presently the little ones an- 
swered from the woods, and were found all safe and well. And the 
mothers and their friends, glad and grateful, gave them fresh charges to 
be careful, and returned to the house talking of their fright ; wonder- 
ing if there was a case of real distress on the Ridge, or was some thought- 
less wretch only feigning it. All was still now ; and pretty soon they 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


40Y 


but this is erroneous. In searching for the corpse of the 
hapless girl, bearing it down from the mountain, and giv- 
ing it Christian burial, he assisted, and also wrote her elegy; 
but had nothing to do with the monument. 

The writer, living within a mile of the grave, has often 
visited it and examined the stone (scarcely the work of an 
adept), and questioned old citizens concerning its history. 


reseated themselves at the neglected quilt. Gradually the talk drifted 
on to other subjects, and it was not till the news went round on Sab- 
bath morning of a woman murdered,” that they knew that they 
had that day heard her dying cries. As the rocks at that time were 
surrounded by high timber and almost impenetrable copse, the cave 
beneath was icy cold, as well as dungeon dark ; and being seldom or 
never entered then with a light, if at all, the corpse, if secreted there, 
might have been concealed for years, or forever. Some think when 
the crime was planned this was the intention ; but that after the deed 
was done, the guilty coward dared not venture with his ghastly bur- 
den within its gloomy depths, but fled with all speed, leaving her 
lying as she fell. 

Some few have imagined that Miss W. was murdered beneath the 
Rock ; but the general opinion, and far more probable one, is that 
she was flung from its top. However, there were several who were 
there early on Sabbath morning, who thought there was a possibility 
that the fall (being broken by the brush and bushes below) had not 
caused instant death, and that it was then the blows had been given 
with the ‘"stone” mentioned before. Persons still living have vis- 
ited the place repeatedly, with one who had witnessed many of these 
events, and could well describe them. He had seen the horrified neigh- 
bors thronging around. Seen the coroner’s jury, standing with un- 
covered heads, silent and solemn, around the dead, and the matrons 
coming with napkins and winding-sheets to prepare it for removal. 
He had aided in constructing the bier and bearing the dead girl away; 
could show the identical spot where she lay ; where her comb, ker- 
chief, etc., were found, and the point (supposed) whence she had 
been hurled. Later, he had seen the excited crowds that had watched 
the trial ; with bated breath hung on the evidence and pleading ; 
cursed the compassionate jury, and threatened vengeance on the 
acquitted. 


408 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Most knew nothing at all, except that it was there, and had 
been for a ‘‘ great while ’’ ; but two or tliree agreed on the 
following account, which is probably correct : 

According to their recollection, a stranger from another 
part of the county was stopping in this vicinity, when this 
sad story was the common talk, and was greatly moved by 
it. Poor and illiterate, but with a heart full of love and 
pity, he marvelled that the victim of such a terrible, un- 
avenged wrong should have no memorial, and modestly 
urged that something should be done ; but none encour- 
aged it. Some doubted the propriety of the movement ; 
others, having neglected their own kin’s graves, naturally 
saw no necessity for marking this one. So, finally, finding 
neither help nor hindrance need be expected, he set about 
it himself, saying : 

“ If no one will aid, I will do the best I can alone.” 

And so he did. Going to the next hill he selected a small 
rock, split, smoothed, shaped it, composed and engraved the 
inscription, conveyed it to the grave, and set it up. From 
first to last the work was all his own ; and though neither 
aided nor compensated, so thoroughly was it done that, 
after standing the storms of seventy years, it is still firm, 
and the lettering legible.* Of the poor stranger, the chiv- 
alric knight who raised it, nothing more can be told ; his 
very name has perished. And this, his work that survives 
him, this rude tablet reared for another, is his only monu- 
ment. 

Some romances, and many songs and elegies, have been 
founded on the fate of Miss W. ; but there were tvro of the 
latter, written immediately after the trial, that were better 

* Shame to say, since the above was written, those outlawed Van- 
dals, the relic-se'ekers, have begun breaking off bits of the stone and 
carrying it away, till a considerable portion has l)een removed. Its 
symmetry is ruined now, and at this rate, ere long not a vestige of 
the poor stranger’s work will remain. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


409 


known than all others, and are remembered and inquired 
for yet. They are too long for insertion here in full ; but as 
they belong to the family, having been written by the 
uncle and mother of the writer, she feels at liberty to select 
some verses from each, and combine them in one song, 
marking the initials of each writer in the margin. 

Polly Williams : a Legend of White Rock, by Samuel Littell, 
Esq., and Elizabeth Littell Custead. November, 1810. 

By E. L. Custead. 

Ye thoughtless, ye giddy, ye gay, ye licentious. 

All ye who soft sympathy's feelings despise ; 

The tale that I tell, if your hearts are not marble. 

Will draw sighs from your bosoms, and tears from your eyes. 

I sing of fair Polly, the guileless,, the lowly. 

Long wooed by rich Fielding, a perjured swain. 

Who, his hand to receive, was decoyed to wild deserts. 

And there by her inconstant lover was slain. 

By S. Littell. 

Long rains swelled the rivers, black clouds hid the mountains. 
The vales lay enveloped in misty array ; 

When I climbed the wet hills, and with heart-rending horror. 
Beheld the sad spot where all mangled she lay. 

Grim rose the hug^ rocks, and deep sunk were the caverns, 

With thorns and keen briers the place was overgrown. 

Above, the dark brow of the mountain stood frowning, 

In the alley dark midnight had built her black throne. 

Sweet girl, 'twas too rude for thy nuptial chamber. 

Was it mete that a bride, on the cold ground should lay ; 

That the howling of wolves, and the screams of the panther. 
Should furnish the songs for thy marriage day ? 

E. L. C. 

When the day was decreed for his fell resolution. 

He fondly renewed all the vows he had made. 

To the altar of Hymen, he lured his poor victim ; 

And the pathway, he told her, lay through this lone shade. 

IB 


410 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


S. L. 

Long miles did she toil o’er the hot country highway. 

Long climb, faint and weary, the steep mountain-side. 

But bright hope still cheered her, the hour was approaching. 
When the one she adored was to make her his bride. 


E. L. C. 

How long didst thou cherish the pleasing delusion. 

When, where did suspicion first enter thy mind ? 

What word, look, or gesture, fii'st startled thy bosom. 

With doubts and with fears, that thy love w<as unkind ? 

S. L. 

Say, when did harsh action succeed to endearment ? 

When broke on they vision, the depths of thy woes ? 

How was the true lover transformed to a demon ? 

His purpose accursed, how could he disclose. 

I see thee all pallid, and trembling before him, 

I hear thy entreaties, thy soul-pierjping cries ; 

Betrayed and deserted, — no helper is near thee. 

From earth nor from heaven will deliverance arise. 

E. L. C. 

The confiict begins ! his fell hands are uplifted ! 

Thou art dragged to the cliff-side, thy screams are in vain ; 
Grim rocks will not heed thee ; his heart is still harder ; 
’Twas adamant, not flesh, which composed his frame. 

No fiend more remorseless, — no demon more cruel. 

With his own horrid hand, to perform the foul deed ; 

To watch thy wounds gaping, to see thy blood streaming. 
And yet his vile heart still refuses to bleed. 

S. L. 

Those soft eyes, so lately with tenderness beaming. 

Now roll with wild horror, and start with keen pain ; 

And soon, very soon will be sealed up forever, 

No sun of to-morrow will great them again. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


411 


E. L. C. 

On the cold, humid ground I behold thee extended, 

No balm for thy wounds, but the fast-falling rain ; 

No tender companion to list to thy 'plaining. 

No accents of pity to soften thy pain. 

S. L. 

'Twas piteous, poor Polly, that strangers’ rude shoulders. 
Through thickets should bear thee down to thy long home ; 

Rough pines of the mountain thy fair form supporting. 

And no gentle relative weep at thy tomb. 

E. L. C. 

Come, every false lover, and gaze from this cliff -side. 

Where one of your victims lies mangled below ; 

Tho’ your vile hearts be hard as these crags that have crushed her, 
Yet some bitter tears ye can surely bestow. 

S. L. 

’Twas the cold hand of strangers that placed thy death pillow, 
That closed thy dim eyes, and thy winding-sheet gave ; 

No friends gathered ’round thee to sing a soft requiem. 

No tear of a mother has hallowed thy grave. 

Poor injured Polly, thy murderer is living. 

For justice, grown weary, forbore to pursue ; 

By lawyers defended, by jurors acquitted. 

His presence detested still tortures our view. 

Ye caverns that groaned while her heart-strings were breaking. 
Could ye not have concealed the poor tortured fair ; 

Or, your grim jaws expanding, have seized her betrayer. 

And hurled his black soul to eternal despair ? 

Or where slept the thunder, the lightning’s red anger ? 

Why darted it not on the scene of his guilt ? 

Or why was the whirlwind forbade to dismember 
And mingle his bones with the blood he had spilt ? 


412 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


E. L. C. 

His soul is still held from the blackness of darkness. 

The air is still stained with his forfeited breath ; 

But thy injured spirit shall still hover o’er him, 

And thy shrieks pierce his ear in the moment of death. 

White Hock, keep her blood ! * let her groans haunt thine alleys, 
Let this mountain lament her in sable array ; 

Let this brook cease its singing, the flowers drop their petals. 

On the annual return of this horrible day. 

Ye peris that wait ’round the graves of the murdered. 

Each midnight wail forth her unparalleled woes ; 

Ye cold clods that hide her, lie light on her bosom, 

Once torn by rough rocks, that dear flesh asks repose. 

The prevailing spirit of this ballad is unmistakably fierce 
and vengeful ; or rather, it is the fire of righteous indignation 
burning hotly against crime — unpunished, outrageous wrong. 
But whatever be its faults or virtues, in sentiment or con- 
struction, it was popular then. Its ringing tones of min- 
gled ruth and wrath, struck the keynote of the community. 
There was the common thought crystallized. This was the 
very voice of the people ; and they caught and re-echoed it 
on every side. It was sought after, read, recited, cried 
over, sung. 

The hero abhorred the fame the trial had given him, and 
from his heaii hated and cursed the song that helped to 
keep him before the public ; but could escape neither. At 
husking and other bees (it is said) men talked of the crime 
in his presence, praised the song, and occasionally forced 


* The simple truth is enough, without one touch of fancy or super- 
stition. And yet it might be added, that for the first decade or more, 
strange tales were not wanting of dread sounds echoing round the 
rock ; of dark stains on its whiteness ; blood, ’twas said, unavenged 
blood, that no sun can bleach out ; innocent blood, that no floods 
wash away. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


413 


him to hear it, by one or two bold fellows holding him 
while it was sung. He left the place before long — and in 
time married a girl from G , who (’tis said) passed fear- 

ful years with him, especially at night. These he invaria- 
bly spent at home, fearing even one elsewhere, “lest in 
sleep he should betray the fatal secret that through hfe 
seemed like a burning fire shut up in his bones.” A con- 
fession was always expected sometime ; but even in age 
and death nothing was divulged. He lived and died unre- 
penting, and the secret went down with him to the grave. 

Ever since this event in 1810, these rocks have been a 
noted resort, and they grow more famous with time. 
Though not easily reached, no summer passes without 
bringing them hosts of visitors from near and far, and so 
many as a hundred have been there in a single day. 

Had this poor maiden suffered in a noble cause, — died a 
martyr for God or humanity, she would have been canon- 
ized ere now. But even as it was, the piteous story touches 
every heart, and can never die till these rocks shall crum- 
ble. This mighty ledge is her imperishable monument and 
witness. No art or time can sever the names and fame of 
Polly Williams and White Bock : and both will live as long 
as these mountains stand. As has been stated, pubhc opin- 
ion was outraged that this hideous crime was unpunished. 
Nor was this mere sentiment, because the victim was so 
young, so fair, so helpless ; the case so every way pathetic. 
No — ^though all this intensified the feeling, it was there be 
fore, and always ; for in early times there was a strong 
sense of justice abroad. Whatever the courts did, the 
people had a sturdy, wholesome desire to have the innocent 
protected and the guilty punished. The prejudice against 
capital punishment was then little known ; very few at that 
day had grown wiser than their Maker, and as His infinite 
wisdom had declared that the “ murderer should die,” they 
accepted His law as perfect, having no idea that man could 
improve it. 


414 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


Nor was much delicacy or privacy then thought neces- 
sary in dealing with offenders. Doubtless it was deemed 
best to make crime appear as base and revolting as possi- 
ble, and salutary for old and young to see the hard wages 
sin gave, even in this life ; for here, as well as elsewhere, 
all penalties, from whipping to hanging, were paid publicly; 
and there were always enough to witness them. Long be- 
fore this, when about 1796, McFall was to die for the mur- 
der of Shadrack (an old man killed in his own house), the 
jail yard in Uniontown was surrounded by a crowd as early 
as eight o’clock a.m., though the execution was not to take 

place tiU. eleven To secure a better view, many of 

the boys climbed into the tops of the adjacent trees, whence 
they watched alternately, the grisly gallows, with its heavy 
beam and swaying halter ; and the road to the prison door 
to catch the first glimpse of the doomed one. But as the 
hour seemed to approach no nearer, Fred and another lad 
or two, thirsty and wearied out, ventured to descend and 
run to a spring at some distance. The moment they re- 
entered the crowd, they saw by its fixed gaze and death- 
like hush that the time had come, and rushed back to their 
tree, but were too late — only reached their places to see 
that the deed was done. The drop had fallen, and shrouded 
in his burial suit and black caj), the murderer was swinging 
in the air.* These boys passed on to manhood ; the elder 
ones were married and settled in hfe ; when they were 
called to assist at the inquest over the corpse of Polly W., 
and in bearing it to the grave : and higher than their boy- 
ish indignation had blazed against McFall, it now burned at 
white heat against the betrayer and assassin of Miss W. 
All felt that they could gladly assist the law to crush such 
a reptile out of life, but that privilege was denied them. 

* This bloody affray ending in two deaths, and the following one 
also, began, like ten thousand others, in a bar-room, where all parties 
had been drinking. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


415 


A little later, another case * occurred, worthy, the people 
thought, of a double gibbet, but neither did they see this 
erected. On coming home from some bee one night, Fred 
said everybody there had been talking of a strange story of 
suspected foul play in Smithfield. The report was, that a 
rich peddler had stopped at the ‘‘White Horse Tavern,” 
there, on Thursday evening, for lodging, who was soon 
joined by Jem W. and Nic J., two former acquaintances. 
These men gave the travelling merchant a most cordial 
welcome ; treated him at the bar, got cigars for all three, 
etc. After much smoking and drinking together, they per- 
suaded him to accompany them to a dance at a tavern in 
H ; at this latter place they stayed drinking and ca- 

rousing till a late hour, when all three agreeing to go and 
finish the' night at W.’s house, they went out together into 
the darkness. 

There was a dense thicket adjac^t, and next day a man 
passing by reported seeing the cattle gathered round it in 
great commotion, bellowing and tossing the dust, as though 
scenting blood. Suspicion was aroused, and presently twen- 
ty-five or thirty persons hurried to the spot. The bovine 
detectives that were still lowing mournfully round the place, 
had not misled them. There were crimson stains and clots 
of gore scattered over the grass, and hard by they saw 
where a horse had been tied that had evidently reared and 
plunged with fright, and, following its tracks across the field, 
they found the bloody print of a hand on the bars. 

These facts, with others, seemed to indicate that not only 
blood, but human blood, had there been shed; and evex’y- 
thing seemed to point out the peddler as the victim. It was 

* McFall in 1796, and Fairwell in 1866, are the only two persons 
executed in Fayette County since its organization a century ago ; but 
this has not been for want of fitting subjects for the gallows. No, 
indeed ; many deeper-dyed villains than these two have escaped un- 
hung. 


416 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


known that he had been joined by reckless men in S , 

and that when heated by liquor they had enticed him away 
to travel miles over lonely roads. He had been seen leaving 

H with them at dead of night, and he had not been 

seen or heard of since. 

It was believed he had been robbed and murdered, and 
excitement was at fever heat. Fred shared in the general 
indignation, and felt like mounting his horse and galloping 
away to join the search and assist in the arrest, but at length 
concluded to wait for further news. 

This came in a day or so, quite cool and toned down. 
Nothing further had been discovered, and the suspected 
persons laughed at the search, and readily explained every- 
thing. Said W. had found one of his horses out of sorts, 
and had tied it near “ that thicket ” till he bled it; but, be- 
ing young and unruly, it had reared and plunged badly 
during the operation, ^t had bled pretty freely and run aU 
over his hands as well as the ground, which of course had 
left their mark on the bars as he laid them down. And this 
horse’s blood, and their own fancies, was what had so alarmed 
both the men and the cattle. As to their late comrade, he 
was all right, and far on his journey by this time, as he had 
started at daybreak. 

Some believed this story, and some doubted ; but as 
there was no positive proof to the contrary, nothing more 
was done. But others stiU kept their first opinion. The 
stranger was never seen again alive, and they continued to 
think tliat there had been foul play, and that the crime 
should have been searched out and punished ; and this view 
the sequel proved to be correct. 

A writer in G who knew all about the case, says of 

these two hardened sinners : “ They were allowed to run at 
large without a prosecution ; but a righteous God would not 
suffer them to go unpunished. Jem W. was taken down on 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


417 


a bed of affliction, and suffered the torments of the lost. 
Every bone in his back became dislocated. His swollen, 
burning tongue lolled out of his mouth. He became a mass 
of corruption, and lived till the worms gnawed his festering 
flesh. No one that ever looked oh him once, wanted to look 
again. Nic G. went West, and was hung for murdering a 
man there, and then confessed that he and W. had mur- 
dered a peddler long before, and sunk his body in Brown- 
field’s mill-dam.” And it is said the skeleton was found 
there long afterward of the unwary merchant. It was strong 
drink that caused him, too, to die as the fool dieth. 

It might be well to close this sanguinary chapter with a 
quotation or two on criminals and their dues. Says a late 
writer,* speaking of the false sentiment of the age : “ Many 


believe capital punishment should be abolished So it 

should, provided capital crime is abolished first These 


well-meaning philanthropists seem to expend all their sym- 
pathy on the poor, unfortunate murderer, giving little to the 
victim or to his widow and orphans, on whom the assassin 
has heaped at once an oppressing weight of grief and desti- 
tution After all good men have said against capital 

punishment, .... I have been forced to the conclusion 
that we ought to continue killing murderers as long as they 
continue to kill innocent people.” 


And the King of kings declares : “ Whoso sheddeth man’s 
blood, by man shall his blood be shed. Ye shall take no 
satisfaction for the life of a murderer, which is guilty of 
death ; he shall surely be put to death. The land can not 
be cleansed of the blood that is shed therein, but by the 
blood of him that shed it. Thine eye shall not pity him, but 
thou shalt put away the guilt of innocent blood from Israel, 
that it may go weU with thee.” 


« A. F. Hill. 

18 * 


418 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


CHAPTEE XLHI. 

“ Beautiful twilight at set of sun. 

Beautiful goal with race well run ; 

Beautiful rest, with work well done. 

Beautiful slumber, so calm, so deep. 

Asleep in Jesus, O beautiful sleep !” 

For some time after her husband’s death Bessie kept the 
house and everything, living just as he had left her, and 
might have continued thus (for she vs^as well provided for) 
but for the difficulty of securing good help. Long before 
this, after Elza married, and httle Bess was gone, she had 
attempted to secure reliable help by taking a young girl to 
keep, who did remain with her several years. 

Ann S. was a tall, black-haired lass, honest and kind- 
hearted, but neither wise nor prudent. She learned to do 
some work tolerably well ; but other kinds either could not, 
or would not, learn at all. She embroidered a cape or short- 
gown neatly enough, but could never make a shirt. She 
was fond of feeding and fussing with animals. Scarcely a 
lamb could bleat, a calf bawl, or a pig squeal but Ann was 
after it ; and any commotion among the stock, even after 
night, was sure to take her out to see what was amiss. Nor 
did she mind seizing an axe and attacking the wood-pile if 
the fuel happened to run short, or did not suit her ; but one 
must draw a line somewhere ; and Ann drew a broad one at 
cucumbers. Nothing could induce her to gather the pickles 
if the whole lot went to seed. She always went when bidden 
to, and strided through the vines, but nothing came of it. 
Whether she was color-bhnd, or only queer or stubborn, she 
invariably returned with her vessel nearly or quite empty, 
saying ‘‘there were none she “ could not find any worth 
bringing,” etc.; though if Elza happened in the same day, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


419 


she could pick a large basket full. And, as Bessie hated 
waste, and doted on all kinds of winter stores, it came to 
be a rule that Elza should come thrice a week and gather 
the pickles; while her own help looked on and laughed, and 
wondered at her success. 

Ann was no borrower, but she was the most good-natured 
lender possible. To want what she had was to get it. Near 
by lived a stout young couple, well able to work, and evei 
to teach school, as both did occasionally ; but somehow they 
were very poor, and to this easy-going woman Ann lent 
nearly every article in her wardrobe from her hat to her 
shoes. When some one, deeming it no charity, chided the 
girl for it, she opened her eyes in surprise, asking: 

“ What will Mrs. C. do if I don’t ? She has nothing to 
wear ! ” 

By and by her good nature went so far as to lead her, not 
to lend, but give her heart away to the hired man, who was, 
to say the least, no better than he should be. But in spite 
of Bessie’s warnings, she took her own course. They left 
the place immediately, and what was the after fate of kind 
but wayward Annie, is unknown. Those who had given her 
a home so long, grieved over her foUy ; but they never saw 
or heard of her again. 

After this, one of Fred’s girls assisted the grandame. 
Teddy M. often stayed with her nights, and for heavy work 
she employed char-women. 

But she was growing old ; the care of overseeing, itself 
became too fatig-uing for her ; and in a year or two after 
Annie’s departure, she gave up the house to Fred, reserving 
only the chamber she and Paul had occupied so long, and in 
which he died. There she stayed for some time, and then 
went to Mead’s to live. But after Katrina’s sudden death, 
the motherless girls begged her to return, which she did, 
and remained till their grief and loneliness wore away. 
When she saw them bright and cheerful again, she decided 


420 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


to remove to Mead’s and make that her permanent home, 
that she might enjoy the society of the only daughter left 
her, and from her receive the ministrations in her declining 
age, that a loving daughter only can give. 

The Mead mansion was pretty full by this time, without 
additional boarders and furniture ; but packing their own 
goods, children, and apprentices a little closer, they cheer- 
fully made room for their mother. They gave her a light, 
airy apartment on the first floor, with south and west win- 
dows and pleasant views. 

Beyond dispute, this was the coolest, warmest, nicest room 
in the house ; for both Elza and her husband yielded the 
first and best of everything to the aged parent. There she 
received her guests, great and small ; and there was a crowd 
of the latter ; for Fred’s large family visited her often, 
Teddy M.’s small family came also ; several of the neigh- 
bors’ children ran in and out, and Elza’s children were al- 
ways around. 

Eor a while she went out occasionally, — a mile or two, — 
on a visit ; but this gradually grew more and more rare, 
till her longest journeys extended but around the yard, 
where she walked a little now and then, leaning on her staff. 
Several times a day she was forced to take a shoi*t rest on 
her bed ; but oftener was seen sitting in her low rocker, 
swaying gently to and fro, with her small white hands, fee- 
ble and shrunken, lying idle in her lap. 

Eor a number of years she could do nothing, not even so 
much as knit or read, and this forced idleness was in itself 
a great* cross to one naturally so active and busy ; and she 
had her share, too, of aches and pains, and sleepless nights. 
The evil days had come ; the keepers of the house trem- 
bled ; the grasshopj)er was a burden; yet through all the 
slow decline, thanksgiving abounded far more than mur- 
murs or complaints. 

Sometimes she was slightly anxious about the work or 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


421 


business, indoors or out, and gave her opinion and advice 
freely; and occasionally rebuked pride, idleness, or some 
other fault in the children with great plainness of speech. 
But this was seldom, for she was generally satisfied that old 
and young wished to do well, and she took pleasure in* no- 
ticing and encouraging all such efforts. There was nothing 
selfish, peevish, or morose in her natui*e to repel the young. 
On the contrary, all, from the grown girls with their sewing 
to the little ones with their toys, loved to congregate in 
Granny’s room, and nowhere else found so sweet a retreat, 
or such ready sympathy in joy or sorrow. For very quiet 
plays, but, above aU, for quiet, charming talks, this place 
was unrivalled. 

Books were still rare, especially for the young ; and such 
a thing as a ‘‘Youth’s or Child’s Paper,” with or without 
plates, was unknown. True, the Mead library was consid- 
ered large in that day, and it did contain a good many solid, 
grave volumes in strong, dark-leather binding, good reading 
for adults ; but excepting school books (and they, even the 
readers, were very solid too), there was absolutely nothing 
for the children. The nearest approach to juvenile litera- 
ture was the life of the immortal tinker, and two of his 
works, “Holy War” and “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Yes, there 
was one exception in an expurgated penny copy of the 
“ Babes in the Wood ” in prose. 

Sometimes, famishing among so much strong meat, the lit- 
tle ones turned over some great history of England, the “ Life 
of Mahomet,” or “The Antiquities of the Jews,” looking 
wistfully for a picture ; or groped and stumbled laboiiously 
through a paragraph here and th*ere about Herod, Berenice, 
Mariamne, Hyrcanus, Aristobulus, Antiochus Epiphanes, 
and so on, hoping among these many names to light on some 
bit of a story. 

It was not so bad in summer, when they were mostly out 
of doors ; and then, too, in latter years at that season there 


422 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


was the Sabbath-schooh library to help them. True, this 
was small, so that when all were present a teacher was some- 
times glad to carry a book apiece to her charge, giving them 
no shadow of a choice. And a majority of the scholars of 
this day would say there was but small choice at best, deem- 
ing all those ‘‘ Lives ” and “ Memoirs ” of real persons old- 
fashioned, those Sermons to Youth,” ‘‘ Scripture Histories,” 
“ Hymns and Allegories for Young Minds,” miserably dull 
and prosy. But though they were grave reading, with 
nothing of the pious novel about them, yet they did interest 
and instruct that generation. 

Still there were a few books in that library that even these 
eager, old-style country children could not admire. For in- 
stance, there was one compact, learned volume in small type 
called “A Warning to Churches,” and when Lotta had 
earned a prize, a copy of this was put in her hand ; a wise, 
good work in its place, certainly, but of what use to a small 
child that could not so much as read the naipe aright ? For 
Lotta scudded home affronted, and told her ma that instead 
of a nice book they had called her out, and before all the 
school (as if she was a big swearer), had given her a “Warn- 
in’ to Cursers ” ! 

How^ever, this dearth of juvenile literature had one good 
effect in making the children all the better acquainted with 
their Bibles, which some commenced going through when 
only five and six years old, reading a portion daily at their 
mother’s knee, while she plied her needle or turned her 
wheel. Such small folks usually went on pretty slowly ; but 
larger ones sometimes read from Genesis to Revelation in 
a year, and then turned back and began it again, and so on, 
over and over. Though the little Meads began reading it 
with the youngest, and were taught to consider it their life 
study, they seldom read so swiftly as this. 

But as it is natural for human nature to love variety and 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


423 


cliange, though it be for the worse, so these urchins often 
longed for a few amusing books and every-day stories, and 
especially, when storm-bound indoors, would have passed 
many a dull hour when ma, sick or busy, forbade all noisy 
play, had it not been for the snug harbor and entertainment 
that generally awaited them in Granny’s room. 

As is natural with age, her thoughts oftenest reverted to 
the days of childhood and youth, revelling in the past, till 
her lips overflowed 

‘‘ With strange, old-fashioned stories 
Of gladness and glory that once were at home.’' 

Hundreds of times she would begin with, “ Once when I 
was young,” “ One time when I was a little one like you,” 
“One day when I lived with Granny Bobinson.” And often 
it was the very tales with which that long-lost friend had 
charmed her infant ears, that she now in turn retold to them ; 
mingling all with tender memories and loving eulogy of her 
who had told them first. And iWas thus they heard “ The 
Wolf Story,” “The Last Ball,” and scores of others. And 
oftener still she related incidents and adventures that had 
occurred at one time or another in her own history. Some- 
times, reaching back to the very dawn of reason, she gath- 
ered up, and dwelt on, her first infantile impressions of life 
and death. She had lost her mother when but three weeks 
old, and in her third year her remaining parent was taken ; 
and among her earliest recollections was that of a still, cof- 
fined form — of hearing a voice saying, “ she had no father 
now,” and of running, frightened and crying, through files 
of strangers to cling to her uncle John. 

Occasionally she would say, “ Once when I was at Uncle 
B.’s.” And one of these early memories was of her Cousin 
Alac, who had died at fouiieen. It was a Sabbath morn- 
ing ; the patient seemed better — was resting well ; and all 
went down to breakfast, leaving her to watch. Presently 


424 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


lie awakened, and looking smilingly up at his little nurse, 
and then glancing at the hearth, asked for one of the ap- 
ples roasting there. He took it eagerly, but the next mo- 
ment paused, and silently handed it back. A practiced eye 
would have noted a sudden change, but the child saw noth- 
ing but that poor, tired Alac was falling asleep again, as, 
indeed, he was ; for the astonished family circle returned 
to find him dying, and almost gone. 

This scene, with all its features, had been impressed on 
her mind as with a pen of iron. She saw it yet : the aspect 
of that upper chamber ; the faces of friends and strangers ; 
the dying-bed; the shadowy form. Everything, great and 
small, without and within, from the sparkling hickory fire 
to the hue of the autumn sky, was fresh before her ; and 
she painted them as things of yesterday. 

And when all was over — ^the cold hands on the breast, the 
set face shrouded from view, and Alac no more of earth — 
she told,* with what a thrill of childish grief and awe, she 
had found the golden russet, the last thing he had ever 
touched or noticed ; there it lay, still marked with the 
pearly teeth, just as she had taken it from his hand, ’Twas 
but an hour ago he held it, and smiled, and called her 
name ; but what an abysm of change and distance divided 
them now ! . . . , 

As was i3ustomary then, the funeral came swiftly on. One 
day, watched and caressed, he slumbered on his downy bed ; 
the next found him gone from sight, and the 'chill Novem- 
ber winds sighing above his grave. 

“A little, little grave, an obscure grave,’' the second 
century is wearing on, since in that ancient Essex church- 
yard it was made for Alac. But through all the cycles that 
have passed over the forgotten mound, the love of one child- 
ish heart has kept his name from obhvion. 

Often too, she talked of her only sister, buried seventy 
years before ; and of her own four children, so loved, so 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


425 


early lost ; describing their words and ways and endless 
charms, as only a mother can ; dwelling fondly on each, 
but longest on her first-born, who had been named for this 
youthful aunt, and, like her, had died at seventeen. 

" Gloomy subjects,” say some ; but no, as treated by 
Granny they only seemed touching, beautifully touching, 
not sombre. She loved them well, but never dwelt on them 
too long ; for as her experience had been wide and varied, 
her topics varied accordingly, being frequently those most 
cheerful — such as the happy, happy days of childhood and 
youth ; and well could she describe the past and its pleas- 
ures. Oftenest, most fondly, she dwelt on quiet domestic 
joys, but did not forget or omit to also celebrate outside 
delights — such as the games and sports common then : 
the manifold “bees”; the “sleighing parties” and “bath- 
ing parties”; the “coasting and skating”; the “rides 
and walks”; the “weddings and infares.” Yes, and the 

faces and fashions of the “ beUes and beaux ” of E 

who had enjoyed them with her, and all the escapes and 
adventures they had passed through together. All the 
places she had ever seen seemed to be before her ; all the 
persons she had ever met remembered. She gave brief, 
but connected memoirs of the few she had known intimately, 
both clergy and laity, and detached incidents from the lives 
of many others ; and whether her subjects wer^ public or 
private, great or small, she invariably carried her listeners 
with her. She taught them patriotism by expatiating on 
the sufferings and privations of the soldiers and all classes, 
during the Kevolution, so much of which she had seen and 
experienced too, for her husband had been twice drafted, 
besides all the other troubles caused by the war. She 
thrilled them with tales of border warfare, and outrages 
committed by both parties ; dwelling especially on the hor- 
ror that had filled her native village, and the whole land in 
1778, at the report of the destruction of fair Wyoming by 


426 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


the Tories and savage red men ; and again in 1781, how all 
their hearts had sickened at the news of the “ massacre of 
the Christian Indians ” by the worse than savage whites. 
Or, coming nearer home, she told the fate of her own 
friends and neighbors; how dear father C.’s family had been 
butchered before his eyes, her own young brother-in-law 
tortured, Col. W. burned at the stake, Miss G. — but enough 
of these horrors. She mshed the children to be thankful 
that they did not live in such terrible times, but seldom 
talked on them long, preferring to treat of pleasanter things. 

Sometimes she described places — as the towns of W , 

S , R and others, or Bedford Springs, or scenery 

along the Potomac or the Delaware, etc. But oftener per- 
sons, books, and events — as “ Belva P., and Her Prophetic 
Dream,” ‘^Dia. N. : A Life-long Sufferer,” ‘‘The Doctor’s 
Wife,” “ Vanity in Church Punished,” “ The Widow B.’s 
Boiled Pudding,” “ Mrs. D.’s Contrarj^ Husband,” “ Farm- 
er E.’s Spiteful Wife,” and a thousand other things, grave, 
gay, or pathetic. 

Books, as. has often been remarked, were exceedingly 
scarce and dear in most places, and she told what a sen- 
sation a copy of Bums’ poems made in E , and how 

folks praised “ Days of Auld Lang Syne,” “ Bonnie Doon,” 
“ Lines to Mary,” etc. Truth to tell, the dear old lady 
herself never lost her interest in a love -song, and would 
quote some of these at eighty, as tenderly as a girl of eight- 
een. This verse was a favorite, reminding her of her own 
true Paul, with whom she had been rarely happy : 

“John Anderson, my Jo John, we clam the hill togither. 

And many a lang and canty day we’ve spint wi ane anither ; 

Noo we maun travel down, John, but hand in hand we’ll go. 

And sleep togither at the foot, John Anderson, my Jo.” 

If ever the younger listeners grew restive, finding the 
talk rather too grown-up for them. Granny could quickly 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


427 


rest them with something small and chatty, about some boy 
or girl, and their plays and pets, sagacious animals being 
great favorites with old and young. A dog (belonging to a 
friend) of mixed blood, shepherd, Scotch terrier, etc., though 
having had no particular training, made himself very use- 
ful and amusing. He seemed to have counted every brute on 
the farm, and no other would be permitted to harbor there 
at all. The first thing in the morning he started on his 
rounds, with his nose to the ground or raised in the air, to 
examine if there had been any nocturnal trespassers. He 
noticed a strange hog, sheep, cow, or horse instantly; and 
often the first Imowledge his master had of the stray, was 
hearing the commotion Spry was making in getting it out, 
which he frequently accomplished all himself. He was 
death on rats and snakes, and the distinct pronouncing of 
their names, especially the former, filled him with excite- 
ment. It seemed a bit as if he knew colors too, for when 
sent to catch a fowl, with the injunction, “ Get yon brown 
one,” or, “ Get yon white one,” or whatever the hue, if once 
the game was shown him, that special biped he pursued 
through all its windings and hidings, and, passing by thirty 
or forty others, seized the one designated. Extremely af- 
fectionate, he loved to be with his friends continually, and 
accompany them everywhere. No coat, bonnet, or dress 
could be laid out, without his being on the alert for a trip; 
and if a bridle or saddle was taken down, he was still more 
anim ated. And yet he never obtruded his company at all ; 
for so delicate and sensitive was he, that if any one wished 
to repel him, one forbidding look and word was enough. 
Such affronts, especially if from his master, wounded him 
deeply, causing him to hide away in grief and shame till he 
was gone and out of sight. Then the forgiving creature 
would steal out, and tracking him to the public road, would 
lie down and watch all day long for his return ; and at eve, 
with more than human love and meekness, would run quite 
a distance to meet him and welcome him home. 


428 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


This fondness for his friends continuing and increasing, 
was, by and by, the occasion of his learning a new trick; in 
this way : Following the two children of the house around 
one day, they finally deserted him by running up a ladder 
that leaned against a tree, and seating themselves among 
the boughs. Spry, surprised and disconcerted, sat down 
discontentedly at the foot, watching them wistfully ; and 
presently began to vent his feelings in a low, plaintive 
whimpering. 

“ Poor dog ; poor old fellow ! ” cried they. “ Don’t you 
cry. We’ll be down directly.” But he only whined the 
more. 

‘‘Well, then, come up to us,” said Amy. “Here, Spry ; 
here. Spry.” 

“ Don’t tease him, now,” said kind Nan. “ You know he 
can’t come.” 

“Well, ’twon’t hurt him to try,” retorted Amy. “And 
’twill be such fun. Here, Spry, come here ; come here ! ” 

And the dog skipped about, and peered up at her anx- 
ious and inquiring. And, as she continued to call and whis- 
tle, point to the ladder, and pat the upper round with her 
little barefoot, he ran up, reared on his hind feet, and 
caught the lower rounds with his paws. 

“ Oh, he’s coming ! he’s coming ! ” cried Nan, delighted ; 
but Spry jumped off again and began to bark. Then Amy 
whistled sharper, and Nan called louder: 

“ Here, Spry ; here. Spry ! ” 

And pretty soon, bashful and whining, he made another 
attempt ; this time reaching the third round, where he 
hung a moment, frightened and nervous, then slipped, and 
tumbled heels over head to the ground. This rather morti- 
fied him at first ; but hearing his companions clapping, 
cheering, and shouting with laughter, he began to think it 
a joke himself ; and breaking into joyous yelps, he laughed 
all over from the point of his grinning nose, to the end of 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


429 


Ids frisky tail, rolled on tlie ground, raced round the tree, 
tore the bushes with his ivory teeth, growhng and charging 
like mad. 

When the mirth had subsided somewhat, the girls desired 
a second performance ; but the actor begged leave to de- * 
dine. He understood the order perfectly well now; but he 
was hot and tired, and to all their commands only responded 
by lying still, and wagging his tail slowly and lazily ; but 
when they became more and more urgent, he rose to his 
feet, wrinkled up his black muzzle, and protested by short, 
serio-comic yowls, and odd, deprecating gestures, that “he 
couldn’t climb that old ladder, and didn’t mean to try ; but 
they could come to him, and must directly.” But as they 
refused to descend, and still kept on calling, coaxing, and 
motioning him to ascend, he at last resolved to join them^ 
if he risked his neck; he would make the effort, at least; / 
and he did. 

To be brief, after much nice balancing on, and close cling- 
ing to the lower rounds, he slowly and carefully scrambled 
higher and higher, till he reached the top, and stepped 
proudly into the forks of the tree and sat down, amid the 
bravos of the spectators. 

They patted, petted, and praised him to the skies awhile; 
then all went down and all ascended again, repeating this over 
and over till the lesson was thoroughly learned. And, as 
Spry was eminently practical, as well as fond and playful, 
he turned the new accomphshment to good account ; for, 
after this, he often pursued the rodents into high lofts and 
hay-mows, before inaccessible to him, which was all the bet- 
ter for his master, and the worse for the rats and mice. 

A gray grimalkin had a history, too ; and, despite the 
savants/^ Tabby had strong affections, much pride, and a 

* A naughty writer says, ‘‘ The cat has little pure affection for man, 
has no pride in its work, looks for no praise ; in short, is as inno- 
cent of merit as if she had been brought up a Galclaut” — [Dr. R. in 
lAmng Age. 


430 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


keen love of praise. She was a great hunter, and habitually 
bore her prey home, and laying it in some conspicuous place, 
called her owners’ attention to it by running back and forth 
from it to them with earnest looks and peculiar cries, fre- 
quently refusing to taste it till she had received what she 
deemed a proper meed of praise; and had even been known 
to rouse her mistress at midnight to look at a fine rat. She 
was a pretty, delicate, silky-haired little creature, with a white 
breast and white feet, and a pair of large, wise eyes, from 
the lower corner of which two narrow, wavy, jet-black lines 
extended, and curved gracefully round each side of her 
face, making her appearance rather singular. 

A sharp hand was Tab at business, patrolling the house 
from garret to basement, and pursuing her prey in the 
depths and the heights. To the tops of tall presses, and 
high shelves they pranced, and she dashed recklessly after ; 
and into deep boxes, and dark barrels they plunged pell- 
mell together. Once, when chasing three mice in a crib, 
they essayed to escape through a hole in the roof, but she 
sprang after, clung a moment to a rafter, and jumped down 
with two of them in her mouth. 

She opened all the doors in the house, if not fastened ; 
and when they were, had been seen to mount a chair and 
yowl and shake the latch impatiently, as if comprehending 
the cause of the hindrance, though unable to remove it. 
The fastenings of cupboards she really did understand, and 
managed cleverly. Standing on her hind feet, she would 
reach up, and with one of her tiny paws turn the button 
aside as deftly as a child, and then with both paws tug and 
pull at the close-fitting door till it flew open. 

The sheds and cribs were faithfully watched as well as 
the house ; but she spent most time at the barn, which she 
probably considered her own special property, and where 
she received any of the family who happened to call, with 
the most patronizing politeness. If she noticed their ap- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


431 


proacli in time, she met them at the door with glad greet- 
ings ; accompanied them every place they went, and almost 
overpowered them with attentions ; hut if they entered sud- 
denly, her movements were sometimes equally sudden and 
abrupt. 

Once Mrs. M., running hastily into the first fioor, was just 
stooping over a hen’s nest, when Tab, without any warning, 
jumped clear from the hay-mow plump on her back. The 
mistress screamed, and ran, and cuffed ; but Tab held the 
closer, and was so pleased with this new exploit, that a few 
days later, she swooped down on the master in the same 
way ; and at different times others of the family were so 
favored. And having managed to light on their shoulders 
safely, she would cling to them with her snowy paws, and 
rub her face against theirs with dehght. 

Hunting was her first business ; but when off duty she 
was eminently social, ever anxious to be near some one, but 
especially her mistress ; she would creep into her lap, or 
her work-basket, and if forbidden these, would nestle down 
on her dress, as close beside her as possible. The friend- 
ship was warm and true on both sides ; but once they had 
considerable of a disagreement. 

With all her virtues. Tab had always been a trifle pert 
and saucy, never so overly fond of recognizing any will but 
her own ; and when in the course of events four pretty kits 
became her property, she grew more proud and forth-put- 
ting than ever. One thing that she settled then and there 
was, that a tub in an out-house, however snug, was not the 
place for her children. Beauties hke them were good 
enough to live under the same roof with the family, and she 
insisted that they should be moved in. But here the mis- 
tress differed with her, insisting just as strongly that they 
should stay where they were. And so they had it. Tab 
would move them in, one by one, and stow them away in a 
warm box ; and madam would move them out all at once, 


432 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and return them to tlieir nest in the tub. In a few hours 
Tab would carry them back, and madam would carry them 
out again. 

After a good deal of this, the dame got a little vexed, 
and bundling up the whole tribe, old and young, she carried 
them into a high loft, put them on a soft rug, and giving 
the mother a light slap and a shake, bade her keep her 
young ones there ; and to enforce obedience, fastened the 
door, leaving only a high window open. 

For two days Tab scrambled in and out of this jail, seem- 
ingly content with the new arrangement ; but on the third, 
as Mrs. M. opened the kitchen door, she was on the step, and 
instead of walking boldly in, crouched down instantly, and 
dropped her head on her paws. “ A cat may look at a king,” 
they say ; but Tab really seemed unable to look even at her 
kind mistress. ‘‘ Poor Pussy ; what’s the matter ? ” she 
asked ; but puss only half raised her head, gave one bash- 
ful, timid, curious kind of a look, and dropped it again, 
shrinking still closer to the step. She acted exactly as 
though caught in some arrant mischief, and expecting pun- 
ishment. 

“ What could ail the pet ? ” But just then, in spite of all 
her care, a kitten’s tail peeped out from under her breast. 
Oho ! here was the secret. Tab was moving again. Not 
stopping to contend with her, Mrs. M. passed on ; and 
when she returned in an hour or two, the flitting was ac- 
complished. The babes were all four in the box; and the 
motber hanging fondly over them, cast up such a frightened, 
beseeching look at her, that she could hardly And the heart 
to scold or rout her again. 

However, the master was not so tender-hearted. “We 
can’t keep all these kittens,” he said ; and before their eyes 
were opened, he had removed them permanently. Poor 
pussy, when she discovered her loss, how she did take on, 
searching everywhere, up-stairs and down, and filling the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


433 


house with lamentations. She looked at every one with 
great, sad, questioning eyes, and followed them round and 
round, demanding her darlings with pitiful mewings. 

The children were gathering apples in the orchard, and 
she carried the search there, climbed into the trees after 
them, still crying — crying; and, as they averred, with tears 
in her eyes. No end of pity and caresses were showered on 
her, and these soothed her grief a little ; and soon another 
method was found for diverting it by the children. 

About this time a pair of young birds of the dove species 
was brought in by them, and, childlike, laid on the trundle- 
bed, and these they showed to Tabby. She brightened up 
in a moment, ran to them, examined them carefuUy with 
four of her senses, and then, as the children feared, was 
about to use the fifth, for she opened her mouth; but no, in- 
stead, she only began licking them tenderly, now and then 
giving a low call, such as she had used to her own young. 
She could scarcely have mistaken these for them, for she 
was a cat of excellent judgment ; but they were small, and 
soft, and downy like them ; they were something to love 
and fondle ; and as the little 'waifs cuddled close to her 
breast, she looked down on them complacently, and soon 
began to sing, and finally, curling down on the bed, clasped 
both paws protectingly around them, and purred herself 
and them to sleep. Tab did many other noteworthy things; 
but she must retire now, to leave space for others. 

A shrewd old hen had a story, too. She had trained many 
proper families in her time, and had always marched them 
proudly to the door four times a day, imperiously demand- 
ing rations, till at length she was beguiled into accepting 
the charge of a lot of duck’s eggs. Such fowls the hen had 
never seen ; and when the brood appeared with their broad, 
sprawling feet and uncouth bills, gobbhng up all before 
them, she was in a peck of trouble. 

With a low cackle of surprise and interrogation, she 

19 


434 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


viewed and reviewed the awkward squad ; glanced at them 
askance, stared at them squarely, cocked her head know- 
ingly to one side and then to the other ; peered at them 
with her right eye, then with her left ; but ’twas no use ; 
strange little monsters they were, and would be. 

. Seeing no help for it, she gave an impatient call, and 
flounced away into a grove of weeds a yard high, where 
food had to be thrown at random, for she could not 
be coaxed out, but hid away for a week or more, as though 
ashamed to show her face. And when she did venture 
forth, timid and unhappy, she mostly held herself aloof from 
companionship with her kind, and from the house ; often 
if approached with food, hiding herself again in the weeds. 

These strange, ungainly birds, forever dabbling in mud 
and filth; risking their fives or catching their death of cold 
in the water, were no children of hers; that was flat. No, 
indeed, she had been duped and imposed on, and had lost 
faith in human nature. 

Another fowl (belonging to a friend), more hasty than 
wise, went into business before the snow was gone ; but all 
her careful brooding brought forth only a flock of one. 
Whether she had heard of the contempt poured on a “ hen 
with one chicken,” or whether simply moved by her own 
proud spirit ; certain it is, she scorned this small begin- 
ning, and before long was singing around, and making a 
new nest under the gooseberry bush. The one chick kept 
close beside her all the time while she made her arrange- 
ments, and laid her eggs, and when she went to setting (not 
knowing what else to do), it set too. 

When theii- united efforts were rewarded by a family, 
the sleek, white hen, rough brown pullet, and downy, yellow 
chicks, all came off together, and paraded round the yard 
an amusing sight. But this ambitious female was not con- 
tent yet. It was but a small brood after aU, only five ; and 
before many weeks she determined to try her luck once 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


435 


more. And when with a well-filled nest, she began setting 
the third time, the half-grown daughter adopted the 
screaming orphans. Sometimes she took them to see the 
mother on her nest ; but much of the time led them round, 
and did her best to feed and protect them by day, and 
hover them by night. An odd, happy circle they were ; a 

real feathered edition of “Little Meg’s Children.” Or 

Granny would tell them about a sound fright Katrina had 
gotten one morning, when she had started to market before 
day. While passing through a wood, she was startled by a 
slight sound behind her. “’Twas nothing,” she told her- 
self. Nothing but the wind ! But — yes it was too ; for old 
Nell was starting and listening too. She paused to hear. 
Yes, — ^there was a sound of something moving swiftly. 
’Twas coming nearer. Yes, ’twas coming fast after her! 
A great coward generally, Katrina quaked with terror, and 
putting Nell to her mettle, away, and away they dashed, 
like “ Ichabod Crane,” and the “ Headless Horseman.” She 
ran ; and it ran. The faster she rode, the faster it came. 

What beast or being was it? What moment would it 
seize her? She dared not look back. On, on she sped, 
over a mile, that seemed endless. Then the day dawned, a 
house was near, and for the first time, she wheeled and 
faced the foe. There the goblin stood, a sad-eyed stranger, 
a dear, meek-faced little colt ; lost from its dam, and all in a 

heat, racing after old Nell. Sometimes the dame laughed 

over the mistakes her petite figure had occasionally caused. 
Once when nearly eighteen, as half concealed by a large, 
long-skirted sun-bonnet, she stood under a wild grape-vine 
near her uncle’s, two stately gents on the road to Trenton, 
had paused a moment, to smile and chat with this supposed 
country child. “ Wliat fine grapes,” “ Would not sissy give 
them some ? ” etc. She was much amused at these stran- 
gers, and at others who had judged that such small stature 
must needs belong to very tender years ; but still more at 


436 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


some of the children, who had sagely decided that it was a 
mark of great age. “ Once,” she said, “ Flo and Lotta had 
been heard confabing solemnly over their dolls, about how 
‘everybody first growed big ; and then growed little again. 
Old Missie R., and Missie W., and daddy G. had got some 
old, and some little ; but Granny ’d got real old, and real 
short ; and papa and mamma, and all the big high peoples 
would get little and short, just like Granny when they got 
old.’ ” 

If now and then, no story occurred to the grandame, it 
was easy for her to imagine one about something ; but she 
carefully distinguished between these make-believes and the 
real ones. On state occasions her high “ chest of drawers ” 
was opened, and her finest linen sheets and pillow-slips 
produced, and better still, the blue-and- white curtains trim- 
med with handsome fringe and netting. These reaching 
nearly to the ceiling, and sweeping to the floor ; draped 
gracefully, and tied back with blue ribbon, looked grand 
as a regal tent to the httle folks. They wished the bed 
“ looked that way always ; they were so pretty ; and then 
there were all the nice, big pictures on them, and Granny’s 
tales about them.” The first was a domestic scene ; a board- 
fenced lane led up a hill, to a white cottage embowered in 
shade, with low doors and casements, and a round window 
in the gable. Outside, a fair woman, with her hair combed 
straight back from her brow, and fastened with pins in a 
round knot, high on her head, sat on a bench under a 
tree, with a child on her lap, and two older children in 
short-sleeved slips, sat on the ground playing with rattles. 
A second female, in a long gown tucked at the knee, with 
a similar topknot on her crown, and a stout maul under her 
arm, was approaching the first, on the right : while on the 
left, a man was seen striding away with an axe on his 
shoulder. “ No, no,” said Granny, laughing at their mistake, 
“ that’s not a ‘ maul,’ it’s a ‘ washer.’ . A thing used to 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


437 


tliump and paddle clothes. Tve seen them often. Most 
likely this woman, and baby too, are sick, or weakly, for 
look how both are wi-apped from head to heel in that thick 
shawl on a summer day. Husband, I judge, had to go for 
the washer-woman first thing this morning. He’s hurrying 
off to his chopping now, and here she comes. She’ll pin up 
that long-tucked gown before she begins to wash, I guess. 
See these pretty fiowers ; there’s water near too, for here 
are reeds and rushes. No, that is not a barn,” she says of 
the next scene ; “it is a ship they are building. See the 
mighty timbers, these are masts and spars. The ocean 
must be just down there, and likely a city behind that 
woods.” The next scene showed a group of tall forest 
trees, and a prodigious bird’s nest, with three open-mouthed 
young ones. “ Young eagles these,” she explained. “ There 
sits the mother, looking fierce enough to seize you. You 
needn’t laugh. I’ll tell you about a child they carried off 
directly ; but here comes the father with a rabbit, or is it a 
lamb in his claws, to feed his babies ? ” 

And so on throughout ; she gave the real name and mean- 
ing of each group and object, so far as the artist had made 
them plain ; and then added on as “ guesses ” and “ may- 
bes,” the many pretty fancies they awakened in her brain. 
AVe know how much sacred lore the infant “Doddridge 
learned from the blue and white tiles in his mother’s chim- 
ne}^”; and perhaps not less, though of a different kind — 
f. 6., lessons on architecture, ornithology, botany, old fash- 
ions, former customs, and what not — did these little ones 
learn from the bold figures and simple talks on the blue 
and white bed-hangings in Granny’s room. AVhat a source 
of pleasure they were in that time of dearth of both story 
books and pictures, and also ^but we must omit — ^liter- 

ally and figuratively drop the curtain and pass on. 

But with ail her kind, gentle ways, this was not one of 
the blind, fond grandmas, who can see no faults in the chil- 


438 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


dren; nor was she too weakly indulgent to rebuke and warn 
with some severity if necessary. Did any of them exhibit 
a murmuring, discontented spirit, she showed them its sin- 
fulness, and reminded them of their blessings, and that all the 
ease and comfort they enjoyed had come by no toil or care 
of theirs ; all had been bought by the labor and sufferings 
of others. The brave fathers had fought and bled to make 
the land free. The brave pioneers had endured all manner 
of hardships and dangers to make homes for them; and now 
ingratitude indulged in these blood-bought homes was as 
contemptible as it was base. How could they (or any of 
the happy children of that generation) think of whining at 
every trifling pain or trouble ? They should be ashamed 
to fret at this and that, and worry their parents for more 
and finer clothes, when those who had gone before them 
had patiently suffered for the commonest comforts of life. 
Former children, as good as they, had never ^een store suits, 
such even as the poorest of their Sunday ones ; nor dreamed 
of white hats and prunella slippers, but had been glad to be 
clad in rough linsey, and shod in rude moccasins or shoe- 
packs. A sad childhood was theirs, spent in constant fear 
of the sound of the war-whoop.” And there was small 
chance to think of fashionable gowns, or of silk, or Leghorn 
wear for their heads, when so uncertain of being allowed 
to wear their scalps. 

If now and then one or another of the band mutinied at 
the table, crossly and daintily refusing what was prepared, 
she had a ‘‘ rod in pickle ” for that too ; that usually shamed, 
and, for the time at least, reformed the little ingrate. She 
would begin relating some story of real want and misery, 
where persons had been worn to skeletons by the pangs of 
hunger before being reheved, and some had hterally died 
from starvation. Or would tell how even in their own dis- 
trict, now teeming with plenty, families had had to live 
(unlike some little folks she knew) for many weeks on 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


439 


pumpkins, potatoes, dried meat, etc., with no bread and 
butter to quarrel with. And when they had bread, it was 
not the nice, light wheaten loaves they tired of, but only 
corn-pones and johnny-cake, made from coarse meal, grated 
or pounded, for at first there were not even hand-mills on 
the frontier. “ Hog and hominy ” was a proverbial dish 
when there was any corn ; and mush and milk was the 
usual supper, when they had meal and milk. In heu of 
the latter, they often supped on mush and sweetened water, 
or muSh and bear’s grease. As salt was $8 per bushel, and 
all beyond the mountain, it was a luxury not always to be 
had. One family being out of meat, the good-wife slew a 
large fowl, and being also out of salt, rinsed the salt baiTel 
to obtain seasoning. 

A wild, precarious life the first settlers had lived ; strong, 
healthy adults . endured it well, but it was very hard on 
feeble persons and young children, who often suffered for 
proper food, especially for milk. What few cattle there 
were, unused to the strange, rough browsing, often did but 
poorly, and sometimes strayed away into the deep forest 
till dry, at times not being recovered at all.'* A good cow 
was deemed a treasure to a family, and the loss of one a 
positive calamity. She could never forget how her next 
neighbor. Eve Y., with such a houseful of little children, 
had longed and waited for a cow ; and with what exultant 
joy she had run in one day to tell her they had secured 
one. How proud her young ones were ! How they did 
swarm round the gentle beast, and lead and feed and fondle 
it! But none rejoiced like the mother. Her little ones 
need cry no more for milk now. What butter she would 
make 1 what dainties cook for her poor John I Oh, a queen 
was not so rich and happy as Eve Y. ! 

But not long after this she appeared again all tears and 
gloom, and sinking into the nearest seat, sobbed out : 

‘‘ Oh, Mrs. T., my cow is dead ! My dear, good Colly is 
dead 1 ” 


440 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


“ Ah, children,” continued Granny, her dim eyes growing 
misty, “ what times we did see then, when one could not 
help another ! But lately come to the wilderness, we had 
but one cow, nearly dry, ourselves ; so, though my heart 
ached for Mrs. Y., I could offer no aid or comfort but sym- 
pathy. All I could do was to give my pity, and sit down 
and cry with her.” .... 

Neither did. a sulky, stubborn spirit find much quaider 
with the grandame. She hated it, and generally found one 
plan or another to exorcise it. One meeting-night, — but we 
should premise that preaching was then often held in pri- 
vate houses ; and perhaps second only to the church as a 
meeting-place, was a large, old-fashioned, log mansion, with 
Avide halls and long porches that stood on the east side of 

the road to N . A high hill rose close behind it, crowned 

above with forest of oak and chestnut, and covered below 
with orchards ; while in front broad meadows stretched 
away, dotted with herds and flocks. On the right of the 
house, the square, smooth, green yard opened into the gar- 
den, and on the left descended into a narrow dell to a pure, 
cold spring. The whole enclosiu’e was shaded by tall, thick 
trees, and bright with roses, lilies, altheas, flowering 
almonds, snow-balls, etc., where birds were singing, and 
bees humming the summer through. Here, service was 
held statedly, year after year, a niece of the host often lead- 
ing the music, and so ably, that an admiring wight, some- 
what given to getting his comparisons mixed up badly, used 
to exclaimed, “ Miss H. can sing, — sing like a martingale ! ” 

But to return, — occasionally meetings were appointed at 
other houses, at Mr. J.’s, B.’s, M.’s, or elsewhere. And one 
night when it was to be at T.’s, it turned out very stormy, 
both indoors and out. Toward evening it began to be 
hinted round by the big ones, that toes and noses would 
suffer to-night.” “ Little folks must stop at home,” etc. 
But Susy, the little person for whom these hints were sped- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


441 


ally dropped, went on laying out her clothes, and paid no 
attention. But when mamma said the same, she began to 
lament and coax, ‘‘she’d never been to Uncle Fred's to 
meetin’.” ‘‘ They’d promised she should go and sit with 
little cousins.” “Now they was all a goin’, and she must 
go too.” But finding mamma firm, she dropped into her low 
chair, and “bawled to some purpose.” They tried to reason 
with her about the storm, — ^how fast it was snowing and 
drifting, and mamma finally drew her, chair and all, to the 
door and forced her to see it for herself. But ’twas no use ; 
she only cried the more, nor did mamma forbid it. She es- 
teemed tears nature’s own best relief ; and generally allowed 
her children to enjoy that consolation quite unchecked. 
And then in this case, knowing how bitter the disappoint- 
ment was, she had no heart to chide. For some time after 
all were gone. Sue sat still in her little chair, sobbing and 
crying, till worn out ; when weary of the lone, deserted 
rooms, she stole into Granny’s, where she and Mattie (now 
in her teens) sat by a cosey fixe, having one of their usual 
talks. But for once the conversation had no charms for 
Sue ; and with red eyes, and pouting fips she sat down in a 
dusky corner, moody and miserable ; giving no heed to 
anything ; and without uttering a word, casting a chill over 
the whole room. Noticing directly that something was 
amiss. Granny inquired the cau^e : and receiving no reply, 
Mattie rose to explain about the trouble ; and that Sue took 
it harder because all the other children were allowed to 
go. “ Oh, well,” Granny said, “the rest were larger and 
could go better, but such midges as Sue should not think 
of being out.” And then both told her, “ How good it was 
of mamma, to keep her at home on such a bad night ; at 
home by the fii’e, was the very place for her, or snug in her 
trundle-bed,” etc. Of course the remarks v/ere well intend- 
ed ; but to the little one, already so sorely tried, they 
sounded harsh and unfeeling, and instead of being soothed 
19 * 


442 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


by tliem, sbe resented them bitterly, as insult added to in- 
jury ; and all unstrung as she was, burst into renewed sob- 
bing, mingled with a flood of broken words of reproach and 
invective against Granny, Mattie, mamma, everybody, till the 
slight form fairly quivered with anger and excitement. 
The grandame was grieved and surprised, for such a dis- 
play of infantile contumacy was quite unusual in the child. 
What had she better do about it ? Such evil passions must 
not fill her darling’s heart, and yet in her present excited 
mood penance and reproof would do little good. She hit 
on another plan. Leaving the child to her own mu sings, 
she turned to Mattie, and resumed her conversation ; and 
(singular as it seemed) this time the subject was the Devil. 
She talked of his power and malice ; how he watched and 
hunted for every soul. How he raged when he saw folks 
praying, and trying to get to heaven, and gloated with 
hideous joy over the bad. How glad, oh, how glad he was, 
when he saw any one doing bad instead of good. 

Like Luther and others of past ages, she mentioned a 
bodily presence too. Some had thought they had seen his 
fearful shape, even in this world. She did not vouch for 
that though, but it was certain all the wicked must see, and 
dwell with him one day. But the good would be forever 
safe and blest ; for thou^ Satan was a mighty foe, God 
was an Almighty friend, and would never let him have one, 
who loved and obeyed Him. Though the doctrine was old, 
the stories told that evening to illustrate it were new ; and 
aU given together in Granny’s inimitable style, had inclined 
Sue to glance behind her more than once, and also to pru- 
dently hitch, inch by inch, out of her dim corner ; and by 
the time they ended, she was truly penitent, and crept into 
bed as meek as a mouse. 

Next morning Max undertook to report the meeting to 
her ; not the audience or their dress, but the service, text, 
etc., which he stated was all a good deal about ants. His 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


443 


puzzled listener began to laugh ; but Max checked her with 
a frown. 

‘"No, no ; it wasn’t queer a bit, nor nothing to laugh at,” 
he said. “ The way the preacher fixed it up. It was as 
solemn-hke as” — But finding his descriptive powers fail- 
ing, he seized the hymn-book. “I’ll find you what they 
sung,” he said. And presently, with a school-boy’s force, 
he began to read out the following : 

* The little ant for one poor grain, 

Labors, and toils, and strives ; 

But we, who have a heaven to gain. 

How negligent we live,' " etc. 

Young as she was. Sue caught the import, and the odd 
hymn, and text following thus closely on Granny’s odd ser- 
mon, was ever after connected with it in her mind; and 
both left a salutary and lasting impression that kept her 
from outbreaking naughtiness for some time. 

As the grandame so often talked of the Jersies, and dwelt so 

much and so fondly on past scenes and happy days in E 

Co., the children could not but think she longed to return 
there ; and would sometimes say, pityingly: 

“You want to go back to the old places, don’t you. 
Granny ? You’d love to see them all again ? ” 

But she would sigh and shake her head. “ No, no, child, 
I could not go back now. Everything is changed. AH my 
friends are dead and gone. I should die with melancholy 
there now. Oh, no ; I could never, never go back to Jersey.” 

Another time when talking, as she often did, of Bose, and 
of the long, long years of their separation, one of the juve- 
nile group cried jubilantly: 

“Oh, Granny, maybe Aunt Bosa will come to see you 
yet, and you’d be so glad. What would you do if she’d 
come to-day ? ” 

“ Ah, child,” she replied, “ she’ll never come ; and if she 
would, I could only sit still and cry,” 


444 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


The little folks were amazed to hear her speak of tears in 
connection with joy. Glad young creatures, they could 
know nothing of the deep soundings of a mother’s heart, 
or of the pleasure that is akin to pain. 

Bessie’s feelings on most subjects were deep and strong ; 
but gloomy thoughts not being indulged, seldom proved 
more than a passing cloud ; and generally no one in the 
liOLise, old or young, was more cheerful than its venerable 
head. She was very fond of reading, and also of sacred 
music, often asking for both ; and though so weak, at rare 
intervals her own feeble voice was heard a few minutes at a 
time in some ancient chant from Solomon’s Songs or David’s 
Psalms. Or it wailed out in the condensed pathos and 
agony of that dirge over a lost soul : Oh, my son Absa- 

lom ! my son, my son Absalom ! Would God I had 
died for thee. O Absalom ! My son, my son ! ” Or she 
celebrated the riches of free grace in some quaint rhyme, as, 

“ Come, my soul, to Calvary,’' etc. 

Or thus : 

‘‘ 'Tis a mystery, no cause I see, 

’Tis a wonder, a wonder, a wonder I 
That Christ should ever die for me. 

That I a wretch, should saved be. 

Is a wonder, a wondrous wonder,” etc. 

Next to her Bible, Watts’ Psalms and Hymns were most 
precious to her, and often quoted. In one of Elza’s letters 
to Bose, the aged parent sent but this brief message : She 
was “ well and cheerful ; at rest in mind and body ; and as 
to the soul, a part of the 119th Psalm expressed its prevail- 
ing wish and joy better than she could herself.” Thus: 

Oh that thy statutes every hour 
Might dwell upon my mind. 

Thence I derive a quickening power. 

And daily peace I find,” etc. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


445 


This letter Kose preserved through life, and naturally felt 
a new interest in the grand old psalm that had been so 
dear to her mother. 

Some time before her death, Bessie being called to part 
with one to whom her soul had long been knit, she parted 
also with this much-prized hymn-book, for the ancient 
friends had agreed to exchange something not new but old, 
as keepsakes, something old and valued, a meet memento of 
the old tried friendship, and of the dear old days when they 
had taken sweet counsel together, walked to God’s house in 
company, and side by side sat down at His table. 

Of all the precious past, nothing seemed a more fitting 
souvenir to Bessie than this solid, firmly bound volume of 
the songs of Zion ; and she gave it, a last gift with her last 
adieu ; for Mrs. J., less aged than herself, was about ac- 
companying her grandchildren to a distant home. She car- 
ried the book with her there, and through all her troubled 
years and journeys near and far, she kept, and read, and 
loved it to the end. 

Bessie’s mind had always dwelt much on eternity ; and 
the nearer it approached, the more it became her theme. 
Much she thought and talked of the life above, and 
mused and questioned. Would souls made perfect, ever 
remember past sins and sufferings ? from those calm heights, 
would they stoop to recall the scenes of time? AVould 
friends who had loved the Master and each other, and wor- 
shipped together here, know each other there ? 

These and many similar questions as to the knowledge, 
employments, and enjoyments of the blest, were continually 
rising, and were sometimes indulged, at other times checked 
as vain and useless prying ; for, unlike some modern think- 
ers, she felt assured that vision w^s now sealed. The Scrip- 
tures had already revealed all that man could learn of the 
imseen while on earth, had told all he could know of spirits 
and their state, till himself disembodied. And calming thus 


446 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


her eager, questioning heart, she would say, “ Ah, well, we 
see but darkly now; but by and by we shall know. Soon 
we will be spirits too, and then we shall knowJ' 

Once, when one of the children had had the good fortune 
to borrow a new book with tln^ee wood-cuts in it, she pres- 
ently ran to the grandame, surprised and incredulous, ex- 
claiming : ‘‘ Do see. Granny, what this man in the picture is 
telling the folks.” 

. Granny paused in her walk, leaning on her staff to listen, 
and S. continued : 

“ He says heaven is near us — not far off at all, but close 
by. Is that true ? ” 

And the hoary pilgrim, already dwelling in Beulah, an- 
swered with a beaming smile : 

‘‘Yes, yes, ’tis true — ’tis near us. ’Tis only a little -ways 
to heaven — only a little.^' 

But though thinking and talking so frequently of a better 
world, and by grace living with it always in view, yet the 
passage thither seldom seemed otherwise to her than most 
dark and fearful. Her natural dread of death was very 
strong, and though faith whispered that he was a conquered 
enemy, to her he seemed a terrible foe still. 

Of course she did not speak of this to the merry children, 
but would occasionally mention it to her intimate Christian 
friends, asking their advice and aid in overcoming this 
slavish fear of the last inevitable conflict. But after all that 
could be urged, she could seldom grapple with it even in 
imagination without some inward shrinking, and felt that its 
near and certain approach must fiU her with dismay, 

“O Lord, cast me not off in my old age,” she prayed; 
“ forsake me not when my strength f aileth.” And the oft- 
repeated cry was heard ^nd accepted, for to such fearful, 
trembling souls the Father’s dealings are often peculiarly 
tender. 

It was a mild February afternoon, with a light covering 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


447 


of new-fallen snow beneath, and a soft gray sky above. Hya- 
cinths, snowdrops, daffodils, and other early bulbs were be- 
ginning to peep coyly upward. Here and there a bird pecked 
on a leafless tree, or flitted shyly from bough to bough, turn- 
ing an eye now to earth, now to sky, and giving off and on a 
low, doubtful twitter, or a short, uncertain snatch of song ; 
and all in a sly, cautious sort of way, as though to it alone 
had been revealed the delicious secret of approaching spring, 
and it was scarcely willing either to teU it or to keep • it. 
The sun, veiled in clouds, yet giving out some hints of la- 
tent splendor, was nearing the western horizon. Without, 
the scene was pure and beautifully calm; within, lively and 
busy. Domestic affairs were going forward as usual. The 
young folks were planning for the future, and chatting and 
laughing over their work in the kitchen ; and Bessie, in her 
usual health and spirits, passed slowly back and forth, now 
pausing a little to advise the granddaughters and watch 
their work progressing; and then returning to her own quiet 
room to rest an hour on her bed, or sit peacefully in her 
easy-chair by the fire. There was no sign or fear of change 
or death in the house, and yet both, both were near. Toward 
evening, Bessie arose and went out wrapped in her shawl, to 
walk a little in the fresh air, as was her custom on mild 
days. She had gone a thousand times before safely, but 
this evening had scarcely crossed the smooth, narrow yard 
once till she stumbled and fell to the ground, and, pale and 
moaning with pain, was carried back to her room. There 
was no serious injury — ^the shock and a sprained hmb were 
the worst; but at her age there was little strength to endure 
suffering, and, weak and frightened, she refused to be put 
to bed, lest the motion should increase it. However, she 
gradually grew easier and rested a little in her chair ; and 
Eose and Mattie, her loving granddaughters, sat beside her 
aU the night. 

Like many of the old pioneers, she had through life gen- 


448 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


erally trusted less to the M.D.’s and their drugs, than to sim- 
ple remedies and good nurses. On one of the latter she re- 
hed specially, and often said to Elza, “ Whatever you may 
think of nurse O. and her skill, I choose her always in my 
ailments ; and when my last sickness comes she must be 
with me.” So this time, though not exactly sick, Mrs. Gr. 
was sent for as usual, as she would trust no one else to move 
her; and as she did not arrive that night, she dispatched 
Mattie again to fetch her in the morning. 

She came, applied some of her usual lotions, administered 
a soothing draught, etc. And when, an hour later, the weary 
patient found herself safe in her soft, warm bed, with her 
tired limbs, stiff and sore, resting at ease, she could hardly 
believe that the much-feared disrobing and removal were 
accomplished. With a face beaming with pleasure, she 
looked from one to another, expressing her surprise and 
gratitude that it was so well with her. Gazing fondly at Mat- 
tie, she exclaimed : Oh, my daughter, I am so glad you did 
get me help ! ” Then turning 'to Mrs. G., she thanked her 
warmly, assuring her that in her estimation she was bet- 
ter than seven doctors. She had so longed for her bed, and 
yet ]iad so shrank from the pain of being moved ; but her 
gentle touch had not hurt her at all. How thankful she was 
that it was safely over, and she was so comfortable, and was 
going to rest so well ! Thus she talked for several minutes 
after lying down, her lips overflowing with gratitude; and 
still murmuring words of love and kindness to all, she fell 
asleep. 

“ All was well now,” they said, and giving a few directions 
about the sprained limb, Mrs. G. returned home, Fred went 
away to his business, and the girls went about their house- 
hold duties as usual ; only stealing softly in occasionally to 
replenish the fire, and note Avith pleasure how deep and un- 
disturbed was the much-needed repose. In the evening 
Sadie came to spend the night, and see Granny, and as she 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


449 


had now had a nice, long rest, the three cousins all went in 
together to awaken and congratulate her. She had always 
been an uncommonly light sleeper, starting at every sound ; 
but now, they were surprised to find that repeated calls did 
not arouse her. At first they thought the unwonted fatigue 
and loss- of rest of the preceding night, explained this deep 
sleep now ; but after several efforts to break it they began 
to be alarmed and ran for their father. But his strong, 
loud calls had no more effect than their own, save that once 
the white lids fluttered unconsciously, half raised, then in- 
stantly fell again, — and she slept on. For a moment Mr. 
Mead stood silent — his inward thought, ‘‘She will never 
waken,” but to the children he said, “ We will send for your 
uncle and Mrs. G. again and let them try.” It was dusk 
when Paul set out, but in an hour or so he returned with 
Fred and the nurse, and they hasten to try their skill, but 
this also is vain ; the sleeper is not awakened. And by and 
by the rest are persuaded to retire, and these two watch 
alone. It is now eighteen hours since she fell asleep, — and 
still she sleeps,— on, and on. The winter night is wearing 
away ; the clock strikes four ; when nurse G., sitting near- 
est the bed, suddenly breaks off the conversation and bends 
over the sleeper. “ There’s a change ! ” she cries, “ caU the 
family quickly! ” And scarcely can all assemble till she is 
gone. Gone, — without mortal pangs, or parting tears, or 
grief, or fear. For though mercy, the great ordeal so long 
looked for, dreaded so long, came at last unawares. Came, 
and passed with all the pains and terrors so feared and 
shrank from through life, unseen and unknown. And this 
was death ; proving at last, only a gentle transition. Only 
a sweet unconscious passing from quiet rest below, to the 
eternal rest above ; only a sinking in peaceful slumber 

here, to awaken in heaven 

To Elza, the loving daughter, it was ever a matter for re- 
gret, that in aU these last days and closing scenes, she, the 


450 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


nearest friend of all, had no part. But so it was ; for at 
her mother’s own request she had gone away on a visit. 
And Flo and Lotta being now Jn houses of their own ; and 
the two little sisters happening to be with them ; half the 
family were absent, knowing nothing of the events trans- 
piring at home, till shocked and grieved by being sum- 
moned thither to the funeral ; for however long deferred, 
the death of one so loved and honored, is always lamented. 
She had nearly attained her fourscore years and ten, sixty 
of which she had been a member of the Begular Baptist 
Society of Bethel ; and as was mete, the pastor of that old 
historic church conducted the funeral services ; giving a 
consoling discourse from Phil. L 21 : For me to live is 
Christ, and to die is gain. And then, the hymns * * and 
prayers all over, — the last rites finished ; she is borne to the 
waiting grave, and with tender tears laid beside the hus- 
band of her youth ; there reunited at last, to rest together 
in hope, and sleep in Jesus, till time shall end. 

For years preceding her death, her worldly business had 
been virtually settled, and her possessions mostly bequeath- 
ed, and dispersed among her descendants, and not long be- 
fore that event, the remnant remaining was donated to dif- 
ferent friends. But as she had from her youth considered 
the poor, so she did not now forget them, nor fail in this 
last division of goods in her latest age, to set something 
apart for the needy.f Every such article was carefully set 


* Hymns, Vain man, thy fond pursuits forbear,'' etc. Why do 
we mourn departing friends ?" and also, “ Jesus can make a dying 
bed feel soft as downy pillows are," etc. 

• f Two or three poor, hard-working women, who lived in cold hov- 
els with large families, and scant clothing and bedding, she pitied 
most, and left to them among other things a valuable comfortable 
apiece, made, as was common then, wholly of wool, even to the wad- 
ding and thread. These heavy spreads of double home-wove flan- 
nel, so large, and warm, and strong, were most welcome gifts to 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


451 


aside by Elza, and by and by duly conveyed to the owners ; 
but her large-print Bible, and eye-glasses, she afterward 
redeemed, as old Mrs. C. was quite wilhng to exchange 
them for new ones. And nineteen years later the well-worn 
‘‘Watts,” dim and yellow with use and time, also returned to 
her. Mere rubbish this, — to a stranger, but not so to Elza. 
Coming as it did to her, from the dead, to whom it had so 
]ong been a companion ; a token from her mother, and her 
mother’s friend, it was precious. A relic to muse over and 
treasure. A tender souvenir of a friendship that had out- 
lasted time, and was now ripening in glory. 

And it added still more interest to the old volume for her 
to know that the portions most prized by its first owner 
were equally prized by the last ; as, for instance, that this 
119th Psalm, so often, read and quoted by her mother, had 
also been a favorite of her friend’s. It was found marked 
from end to end by her hand ; and all its many parts were 
worn, dim, and faded with use, and blotted with tears. For 
this sweet sufferer had appropriated its plaints of trouble, 
anguish and horror of soul, and of heart-fainting, and 
melting for heaviness far more than Bessie, who had en- 
dured but common griefs. But on the broad truths there 
was oneness. Both could avow, “ I love thy law, O God. 
.... Thy word is sweet to my taste Thy precepts 


the poor rum-cursed mothers ; and many a bitter night the}^ drew them 
over their pale, half-clad babes, and thought of the long-buried donor 
with grateful hearts. They served them a great while, and one at 
least did double duty ; for Mollie D., in showing her quilt years and 
years afterward, naively explained its lessened size by saying that, 
“ One winter when Dan drank more, and provided less, even than 
usual ; and part of the family were suffering ; she had been forced 
to unsew the brown border, and cut both top and lining into clothes 
for the almost naked little sons.'’ And she then added, too, some re- 
marks on the dram-sellers ; more true and forcible than polite. It 
was no wonder, poor, tried soul. 


452 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


are tlie rejoicing of my heart Thy commandments 

are my delight, and Thou art my shield and portion for- 
ever and ever.’* How blessed they who can say the same. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

And dwelt on former scenes and days gone by.” 

“We have had our May, my darling, and our roses long ago, 

And the time of year is coming, my dear, for the wintry night and 
snow ; 

But God is ours through the murky night, as well as the blushing 
day. 

And we feel and know that we can go wherever He leads the way.” 

Though Frederick T. had mourned the loss of his wife far 
longer and more deeply than most bereaved husbands do ; 
yet, as was natural, the keenness of his grief wore away 
with time ; and four years later he led a second bride to 
the altar. This lady, Maria N., was a black-eyed, black- 
browed brunette, crowned with a heavy coil of raven hair, 
and was as tall, and dark, and stately as Katrina had been 
small and fair. She had seen a good deal of fashionable life, 
and friends thought her tastes and training scarcely suited 
her for the quiet simplicity of a farm-house. However, she 
gradually learned country duties and ways, and adapted 
herself to her new sj)here ; and, notwithstanding the com- 
mon opinion of the incompatibility of sisters-in-law, she and 
Elza were mutually attracted from the first, and became 
fast friends. 

A few years after this second union, Frederick and his 

wife took a trip to W to visit his married daughters, 

and look at a farm he had near there. The new State 
pleased him well ; so well that soon after his mother’s death 
he rashly broke up all his old associations to remove there, 
and the old home went to strangers. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


453 


Once, and only once, he saw it again when years after his 
removal he returned to Pennsylvania, and came to his na- 
tive place as a transient guest. Past middle life when he had 
left it, he was growing old when he returned ; for broken 
health, more than time, had aged him fast, making exertion 
that was but pastime to his compeers, painful to him. 

His brother-in-law, still vigorous as most men at thirty- 
five, was surprised to see what trifles fatigued him, and that 
the two haurs’ walk around the old homestead was followed 
by a two hours’ rest on his bed ; and Elza, too, noted this 
and other symptoms of fading, with pain. But however 
disease and exposure had weakened the body, it had left 
the mind strong and bright. Even from his couch he held 
his part in, and led the conversation whither he would ; and 
anon playfully heaping j)illow on pillow beneath his head, 
he prepared to lead the singing. First he gave, “ O thou, 
in whose presence,” etc., to the exultant notes of “ Davis 
and then other hymns and tunes that he and Elza had 
learned together in days of yore. And by and by “stiU 
evening fell,” and all the family great and small gathered 
in, and they went back from music to conversation, and 
chatted and laughed, and discussed more topics than old 

Talkative ” himself. 

Uncle Frederick delighted the young folks by relating 
one or two thrilling stories, and by reciting scraps from his 
favorite poets. Of new pieces, he said nothing pleased him 
better than ‘‘Lochiel” and "‘The Burial of Sir J. Moore,” 
and he quoted, 

“We buried him darkly at dead of night,” 

and other fine lines feelingly. 

And when, anon, the autumn air grew chilly, all with one 
concert adjourned to the cheerful kitchen, and re-formed 
the circle around its ample hearth, where at all seasons a 
wood-fire burned or smouldered. And there they sat, talking 


454 


ROSE 'AND ELZA. 


and talking of the present, the future, the past, comparing, 
forecasting, reviewing, smiling, sighing, as the night sped 
by. 

Ah, well might they linger long, and chide the quick-fly- 
ing hours, for they were the last they were ever to spend 
together. The coming morning closed the visit, and, as it 
was never repeated by either, they met no more. 

Some four years after these had met and parted, their 
sister Kose was called to a stiU sadder parting by the death 
of her husband, who died in his seventieth year. This mar- 
riage had proved in some respects a real love-match, for the 
youthful affection that their elders had mistrusted, and 
sought to test by a long probation, had endured every trial, 
and lived and lasted till age and “ death did them part.” 

Kose, with her fine romantic feelings and o’erflowing 
wealth of love and constancy, could never change. And 
Elmer, the stalwart, matter-of-fact farmer, with his rugged 
strength of mind and body, though little given to melting 
moods or sentiment, and seemingly scarcely fitted to sym- 
pathize with a nature like hers, yet had always had some 
perception of its strength and beauty. The spell it had so 
early cast around him, no time could dissolve. It had 
charmed him in the freshness of spring-time, and in the 
“ sere and yeUow autumn ” it charmed him still. 

Far more than most wives, she reigned “ sole compan- 
ion of his home and heart”; for even when surrounded 
with grown-up sons and daughters, the house to him, seemed 
empty without Rose. He seldom cared to tarry long within 
if she was not there ; and often, if absent but for a day, he 
would loiter and linger without in the gloaming, waiting 
hke some boyish lover at the style, to watch and welcome 
her return 

Pity it is to mar this fair picture of long-tried faithful 
love with one dark line ; but nothing^here is perfect ; and 
truth compels the avowal, that Elmer’s affection, though in 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


455 


one sense fond and true enough, was yet not entirely noble 
and unselfish, nor often rose to the height of giving pleasure 
at the sacrifice of his own. He like'd well to be happy him- 
self ; and equally well, perhaps, he hked his wife to be hap- 
py, f. e., happy in his way, and ioiY/i him; but he scarcely 
rehshed her finding, or expecting much pleasure in other 
ways, or elsewhere. Probably, like many another, he would 
not have grieved had she quit:e forgotten her native land 
and father’s house ; for the strength of her local attachments, 
and the depths of her filial and fraternal . love, struck him 
rather unfavorably, as a kind of shght^o, or lack of loyalty 
toward himself. 

But there was no cause for jealous fear. There was room 
enough in her heart for all ; a nature so rich and full could 
never be changed or impoverished. And, without wronging 
husband or children, or loving them the less, she held the 
past in kind remembrance, and kept her ancient fealty to 
the home she had known earhest and the friends she had 
loved first. 

The cool, practical, jovial husband, who (as is common) 
regarded a place none the more because it had been his 
father’s and his birth-place and whose mother and brothers 
had followed, and were near him, saw nothing to recall or 
regret. But the young wife, with so much left behind her, 
and with a temperament so different, could not become so 
thoroughly absorbed in the present as to forget the past. 
And though she struggled against it, burdening herself with 
domestic cares early and late, and diverting her mind with 
company and business, yet all could not overpower memory; 
and often, as the slow years rolled by, she “pined in 
thought,” and suffered all the pangs that only the exile from 
friends and country knows. A thousand times she visited 
them in fancy by day, and saw them in her dreams by 
night ; a thousand times purposed and pictured a glad 
return; but it never came. Some obstacle was always in 


456 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


the way. The risk and expense of travel then was heavy* 
One or another of the family was often ill, etc., etc. But 
more than all else, it seemed to her that Elmer never really 
wished or encouraged the journey ; and without his hearty 
concurrence she would not attempt it. He did not forbid 
it, certainly ; but even while consenting to her plans, he 
thwarted them indirectly by raising so many doubts and 
fears as to their expediency and safety. Sometimes drop- 
ping boding hints as to the dreariness of home to him during 
her absence ; again speaking dismally of the loneliness of 
the dear children left without a mother, and so on. 

True, to some less devoted women and less sensitive to 
blame, all these obstacles would have formed but a slight 
intangible barrier, easily surmounted ; but to Bose, with her 
high ideas of a wife’s and mother’s duty, it proved as im- 
passable as a wall of iron. So, the visit would be given up, 
for that time, and she would return to her only resource, the 
pen ; and in those crowded, close-lined pages, often traced 
while all the household slept, would pour forth on that other 
household, the tenderness of her heart, revealing to those 
earliest, but far distant, friends an intensity of feeling, dis- 
appointment, and languishing home-sickness, the depths of 
which none else could know or understand. Not unfre- 
quently such lettei's would close with pathetic appeals for 
seeds, roots, or cuttings of wild flowers, shrubs and trees ; 
for, being a passionate lover of Nature, her attachment to 
her native hills was scarcely less than that to her friends ; 
and yearning for all alike in vain, she was fain to soothe the 
pangs of absence by cherishing something their dear hands 
had gathered — something that she had known and loved at 
home, and she found some solace and companionship in 
planting and watching these tiny slips and seedlings of 
spruce and chestnut, of laurel, winter-green, and other forms 
dear and familiar to her childhood. 

And though here they made but a meagre show at best. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


457 


and usually, with all her care, grew gradually less and fewer; 
yet she loved them to the last, and grieved as she saw them 
drooping in the foreign soil, and one by one pining and 
fading away. How well, how fondly, she remembered their 
wild wealth of beauty at home. With what endless variety 
and exuberance of bloom, and freshness, and shade, they 
and their fair sisterhood had filled her early walks. Aye, 
and filled them yet,” she sighed ; for— 

Still arc these treasures from thy bosom springing, 

O, far-off mountain dells.” 

“And sometime, — yes, surely — -sometime, she would 
wander there again. Some day she would climb those piney 
heights once more with Fred and Elza. Scale the rocks, 
eiiplore the caves, weary herself with blissful rambling, and 
return at eve laden with mountain fruits, ferns, and flow- 
ers, as of old. For one brief, blessed period, cast can- 
kering care aside, bask in her parents’ smiles, and be a child 
again.” 

And the poor father and mother read these tender, touch- 
ing missives with tear-dimmed eyes ; and longed and hoped 
for her coming ; and watched and waited long ; till weary 
and worn out, one after the other, they dropped away, and 
“died without the sight.” And Eose, poor Eose, to her 
these tidings of death were heavy ; to her, on whom aU im- 
pressions were so deep and lasting. And then this grief 
was, perchance, not unmixed with the pangs of unavailing 
regret. Now, perhaps, she saw more clearly than ever be- 
fore, what a child owes to parents ; yea, what she had 
owed to aged parents, so kind, so tender as hers ; and felt, 
with melting heart, that the keen pain of this trial, this long, 
dreary, endless separation should have been spared them, 
and “might have -been.” But it was too late now ; aU op- 
portunity for filial duties was past. But there were others 
20 


458 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


waiting, near and pressing ; other cares, other joys. And 
bravely wrestling against sad memories and useless brood- 
ing, she wisely resumed her wonted occupations, and filled 
her place as usual ; and life went on, more empty, but as 
busy as before 

“Seven more summers waned,” and in the eighth, after 
' the death of her last parent, she was called to mourning 
again, this time for the husband of her youth. She buried 
him with Christian hope, and yet with many tears. His 
affection, if exacting, had also been strong and true ; and for 
nearly half a century they had journeyed together, leal com- 
^ panions, and lovers to the last. 

To Rose (as to all others) the passing years had brought 

many changes The health of her family had improved; 

some were married, and all were grown. The fond, aged 
husband needed her ministrations no longer. Her duties to 
the old and the young were finished. “ Rest, change, travel,” 
said her friends, “are in order now”; and her children and 
her physician re-echoed the mandate. Yes, she would ; and, 
like the freed dove to its nest, quick as thought, her heart 
turned homeward. “ Home 1 home ! ” to her mountain home 
at last ! True, she was rather feeble now to undertake so 
long a journey ; but by travelling in her own carriage she 
could go by slow and easy stages ; and two of her careful, 
loving children would accompany her. All the details were 
settled. The glad preparations were begun. The hopes of a 
lifetime were to be realized. And then, alas, health failed; she 
was stricken down by a lingering but mortal disease, and soon 
it was evident to aU that the long-talked-of journey would 
never, never be taken. And Rose saw it too ; and strove, as 
in many a trial before, to say, “Thy wiU be done.” But she 
was growdng w^eak and frail now, and this last disappoint- 
ment was so hopeless, so bitter ; as a Christian she submit- 
ted, but the poor, weak, human heart shrank from the bur- 
den, and prayed and entreated that the heavy cross might 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


459 


be lightened. There was one thing still on earth that could 
alleviate this trial — only one, she felt, and that was a visit 
from Elza. And for this last boon she entreated ; to 
this last hope she clung with all the intensity of her nature, 
and would not be denied. To be brief, a most touching 
message, dictated by herself, came to summon the sister to 
her side ; and others, still more urgent, foUowed, and though 
the latter found much to hinder and intimidate, for she had 
never been twenty miles from home since she left school, 
and was full of fears; yet, aU was finally surmounted, and 
she went 

The brothers, Fred and Rowland, had each visited Rose 
once ; but these, the only sisters, had not met for aloiost 
forty years, and their meeting — their feelings — who can de- 
sc]*ibe ? . . . . By and by something like calmness was re- 
stored ; and then, whether the invalid rechned on her lounge, 
or rested a little in her easy-chair, Elza's was placed close 
beside her ; and there the sisters sat, and looked into each 
other’s faces, and talked, the long days through. Almost a 
child when she left her parents. Rose never wearied hearing 
of them ; and much she questioned of all the incidents of 
their lives and deaths ; and much she told of how often her 
heart had demanded them with yearnings unutterable that 
could not be stilled ; and she had “ verily thought that she 
could not survive the news of their death, but must die with 
them.” Ah, she had not then learned ‘^how much the heart 
could bear.” Apart from her they had lived and died, and 
their tombs, even, she would never see ; yet, still she lived 
and suffered. Often feeling that it would be some satisfac- 
tion to know where they were laid, some solace to be able 
to visit their graves, though but in fancy; she would beg 
Elza to describe the place over and over, till she could recog- 
nize it and fix it on her mind ; and her efforts to assist in 
this, by giving her own recollections of familiar landmarks, 
were pathetic. 


460 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


“I remember,” she would say, ‘‘just bow our old home 
stood, with the creek and the great hill before it, and the 
peach orchard behind it. I can see the path that wound 
round by Ethan’s pear-tree and down by the sloe-bush. I 
know where the tall hemlock and the seven chestnut trees 
stood ; and where we climbed the fence into the turnip lot ; 
and have never forgotten the sheltered bank where the wild 
flowers came earliest, and the wild fruits ripened first,” etc. 

And then, with childhke earnestness, she would ask : 

“Now, where are the graves? How far •are they beyond 
the house ? In what direction from Ethan’s tree ? How far 
and which way from the hemlocks and chestnuts? On 
which side of the path ? ” etc., etc. 

But, ah, dear heart, she saw and described things as they 
were then, and reckoned by landmarks that had long since 
passed away. And though Elza exhausted her descriptive 
powers to bring the scene before her, and strove to make 
her see it as she saw it, and as it was now, she but partially 
succeeded. Nor did Bose forget other persons, incidents, 
or localities ; but wished to hear from every old home 
neighbor, and of all she had ever known, and of all the old 
places, too ; but especially of those she had gone oftenest to 
with Elza. Among the earliest recollections of both (out- 
side the family), were those of the first preachers, and of the 
great, solemn, sacramental meetings, and long tables, and 
vast crowds, at a tent* in the forest ; where their parents 
had carried them on horseback in infancy, and to which, 
when older, they had often walked together hand in hand.f 
And well they both remembered what manner of pastoral 
visits these apostolic men had made ; when, besides read- 
ing, singing, praying, and catechising, old and young were 

* “ The tent had been replaced by a large building,” Elza told her, 
*‘and named Tent Church.” 

f A double tree, under which they had frequently rested on the 
way, Rose was interested to hear, was still green and fruitful. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


461 


addressed personally on the great salvation. In such a visit 
Elza had been gently drawn to the pastor’s knee, and, 
though but five years old, the tender words then dropped 
in the infant ear had made a lasting imj^ression, and were 
(considered) the means of her conversion. 

And w;hile dwelling on these early rehgious privileges, 
they naturally recalled later ones, also ; especially those of 
the wonderful revival that had blessed the country in 1801- 
1803. They also touched on the strange ‘‘ falling exercise ” 
that had accompanied it, of which both had witnessed much; 
but on this phenomenon neither dared venture a decided 
opinion ^ 

When the vicissitudes of Hfe became the theme, Elza said 
little, for she had known few changes. Serious illness was 
nearly or quite unknown in her household ; and death had 
never entered it. But Eose had had a different experience ; 
wider, deeper, fuller. A wife and housekeeper at sixteen, 
three years later had found her an alien, parted from home, 
friends, child, and with a second babe on her bosom, float- 
ing “slowly and sadly” down the silent Ohio. A long 
and perilous journey by float-boat stretched before her ; a 
journey to end in fixing her at nineteen, in the lone “ cabin 
of a wild clearing on the far Western frontier.” 

Here, through malaria and other unavoidable influences, 
her fine constitution had slowly given way, and of the large 
family that gradually gathered around her, none were ro- 
bust. Often several were complaining together, and at 
times two were prostrated at once for half a year and more 
continuously. And there were wearisome months and nights 
of weeping, when through the dreary weeks mortality 
breathed on the heavy air, and “ death looked in at the win- 
dows.” Thrice he had entered. She had buried a daughter 
in her prattling childhood, and a son in his manly prime. 

A noble career was opening before him ; a bride awaited 
him. Full panoplied for life’s battle ; just entering its 


462 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


grand arena ; it was then the blow fell, and the busy forum 
was exchanged for the darkened chamber, and the silent 
dust. 

Years fled, and then another passed from sight, the friend 
and lover of her youth was not. And all these trials and 
other crosses and griefs of a lifetime, that here are but 
touched on, or omitted entirely. Rose narrated with graphic 
power. And though she usually spoke of them calmly as 
things now past, the pitying listener could detect the deep 
but suppressed emotion that told how keen had been the 
pain, how lasting the impression. Ah, truly. 

No deep wound ever closed withcfut a scar. 

The heart bleeds longest. 

But none must imagine that their conversation was always 
sad or solemn ; on the contrary, it was often cheerful, and 
sometimes even gay, especially when they recalled the end- 
less pranks of Fred, and all the merry days and plays that 
they three had enjoyed together. The}" laughed about the 
lessons he had given them in jumping, throwing at a mark, 
etc., in which Bose, he said, “learned well, but Elz not 
worth a cent.” And over the time, when for some breach 
of the law, he had condemned Bose to an imprisonment of 
five minutes in the clay oven. But the jail being nearly air- 
tight, and the day hot, the captive was found at the end of 
her term half smothered. So that fun was turned to fright, 
and that penalty forthwith abolished. 

And they talked of the “ Still-House Party of “Whis- 
tling for the witches”; of “faithful -Hetty”; “the pansy 
bed”; the “first rose tree”; “the first school ”; the favorite 
mountain walks and flowers ; and of squirrels, lambs, span- 
iels, and all their former pets, wild and tame. 

In a pensive mood they would sometimes speak of the 
brother and sister, the gentle maiden, the laughing school- 
boy who had gone first and early. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


463 


One day E-ose, from some secret casket, produced a slip 
of paper dim and yellow with time, over which Elza bent 
with suffused eyes, and begged as a keepsake. It contained 
a few words traced fifty-eight years before in a bold, round 
hand. It was Ethan’s ; just a scra]3 from the long-lost 
brother’s boyish composition. 

One time or another during the visit, almost every per-* 
son, place, and circumstance, ever known, and interesting 
to both, were recalled ; and their whole lives, from infancy 
up, were reviewed and lived over together. And though 
the passing years had brought them enough of crosses and 
losses, and there had been sadness and tears, yet both could 
acknowledge them blessing also had been manifold, and 
every judgment mingled with mercy. 

There was more poetry in the past, and on this they 
dwelt oftenest; yet they did not forget the present. Some- 
times, like other wives and mothers, they became engrossed 
in a purel}^ domestic conversation, of which husbands, chil- 
dren, and grandchildren were the topics ; and wherein the 
gifts, graces, merits, and peculiarities of all were freely ex- 
patiated on. Or they compared notes on passing events and 
current literature, and discussed ably and earnestly the po- 
sition and prospects of the church and nation, and the 
probable end and influence of the leading isms and issues 
of the day. 

Each was pleased with the keen logic and sound ortho- 
doxy of the other, and more than pleased — dehghted, to find 
how unreservedly mind met mind ; that the long, weary 
separation had bred no strangeness between them, nor 
thrown the least restraint or formality into their intercourse. 
And Rose also expressed her satisfaction in finding the 
younger sister so little changed outwardly, saying that 
“face, voice, manner, all seemed surprisingly natural.” But 
alas, on herself, disease, time, and trouble, had dealt mth a 
heavy hand ; so heavy, that Elza ’had not this consolation ; 


464 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


for in this withered eld, with feeble, shrunken foi-m, sallow 
cheek, and faded eye and hair, she looked in vain for one 
trace of her playmate ; and felt with bitter disappointment, 
that all semblance to Rose, the mountain rose, that had 
gladened her happy childhood, was gone forever. And 
often a ‘‘ sad sense of loss, and too-lateness,” made her sigh 
* in secret, and bathe her pillow with tears. 

One day another unfamiliar form appeared ; a strange, 
portly lady, who flung herself into Elza’s arms. And this 
dignified, middle-aged matron, attended by her grown-up 
daughter, they said “ was little Bess ! ” 

And now the visit began afresh ; for these two also had 
former scenes to review, and a thousand things to tell and 
ask each other of the old life and the new. And Bess told 
her aunt of her husband, home, and children, and of aU her 
fortune, good and ill; but described best her experience as 
an emigrant, when she had come out with her father, and of 
how like an alien she felt for the first few months, where 
every one, even her mother, was a stranger. And she told 
with what naughty contempt she had compared the cramped 
frontier cabins with the spacious rooms she had left, and 
how often she had forsaken the wild clearing and gone with 

aching heart to wander and weep by the M i, and think 

of the Redstone. Sometimes she sang the song of Selkirk, 
making the river banks echo with 

When I think of my own native home,’' 

In a moment I seem to be there,” etc. 

and similar doleful dirges ; and every scrap of that class 
of poetry found was preserved by her, and some verses were 
added by herself. The following is from her treasury; but 
whether this piece is original or selected is unknown. The 
writer has never met with it except in Bess’s handwriting : 

^ MY CHILDHOOD’S HOME. 

Afar by an ancient and shadowy wood. 

Where wild-flowers were springing, my early home stood ; 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


465 


And honey-bees’ musical, murmuring sound 
Came faintly from blossoming orchards around. 

And light tones of gladness and low sounds of streams. 

And wood-notes as wild as the magic of dreams, 

Went up like a hymn in the morning’s rich glow, 

In the freshness of springtime and youth long ago. 

The soft, plaintive accents of sorrow and love 

That thrilled through the heart from the lorn turtle-dove ; 

The robin that sang on the poplar at morn. 

The distant bell’s tinkle, the far-sounding horn ; 

The deep-ringing echoes from valley and hill. 

The sad song at eve of the lone whip-poor-will— 

What a lingering spell of enchantment they throw 
Round the home of my childhood and youth long ago. 

Still memory pictures the far-away scene. 

Its dim forest paths and the hills ever green. 

Still brightly the light of the summer sun shines 
On the moss-covered mill and its sheltering pines ; 

And the music of birds is abroad on the air. 

And all but the friends of my childhood are there. 

They ramble no longer where violets blow ; 

We shall meet never more where we met long ago. 

A few brief, happy days they spent together, and then 
Bess took her departure ; and this sad leave-taking of hers 
forcibly reminded the sisters that their own was fast ap- 
proaching ; for Elza’s visit, that had already extended into 
months, was now nearing its close. To natures like theirs, 
such a farewell as awaited them must needs be most trying 
to both; and, warned by her increasing weakness, the invalid 
particularly requested that when the time arrived, every- 
thing like a scene might be avoided, and the adieus made as 
brief and unimpressive as possible. This judicious sugges- 
tion was wisely heeded ; and such was the rare self-control 
of all parties that the much-dreaded ordeal was passed 
through safely, and almost calmly. 

The passionate attachment to nature that had character- 
20 ’*' 


466 


ROSE AND ELZA, 


ized Eose’s childhood continued unabated through life ; and 
even during her last illness, she would frequently be borne 
out in her arm-chair and carried round the grounds, where 
everything, from the stateliest tree to the lowliest plant, in- 
terested her. Flowers had been her friends and compan- 
ions from infancy, and lovingly, in sweet succession, they 
ministered to her through long, months of pining sickness, 
mingled in and marked each phase of this memorable visit, 
and attended her to the end. March had brought the snow- 
drop and the crocus, when the sisters met, and June its 
roses and lilies, when they parted. The gorgeous bloom of 
mid-summer brightened and faded for the dim, fast-failing 
eyes once more. September came with its asters and its 
golden-rod ; and then beneath the greensward that cov- 
ered the husband, other hands were folded, and autumn 
spread her charms for Eose in vain, and strewed the first 
brown leaves on her grave. 

Toil and care were over. For one more the story was 
finished; earth’s joys ended, and heaven’s begun. 


CHAPTEE XLV. 

The earth is full of farewells to the dying and mourning for the 
dead.’’ 

Not long before Eose’s death, in a quiet village near her 
own birthplace, a babe was born ; and this little stranger, 
singularly enough, was destined to resemble her very close- 
ly in many points, both in character and history. Even in 
her play the little Elma exhibited many of the traits that 
had distinguished Eose’s childhood, and as she grew up, 
similar tastes and talents appeared. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


467 


She had the same gift and passion for music and poetry, 
the same intense love of nature, the same warm family af- 
fection, the same strong, unchangeable local attachments 
that Eose had felt, and to the same places. Elma’s husband 
was a farmer too, and herseK the mother of two children 
(as Eose had been when called to emigrate), when she also 
was led to follow her example by removing West — wdth this 
difference, though : the latter’s new home was not a pio- 
neer’s cabin, but a nice, roomy, pleasant house, in a well- 
cultivated, fertile country — very fertile, when seasonable, 
but with a climate subject to great changes, as trying to 
health as to vegetation. 

A writer once said of it (perhaps speaking a little at ran- 
dom) : ‘‘Our State against the Union for extremes. It is 
the hottest,, the coldest, the driest, the wettest, and the wind- 
iest of all.” But, good or ill, many had chosen it as a loca- 
tion, as there were scores of thousands there before Mr. H. 
and his family arrived. Elma gave their new place a pretty 
name, as pertinent as it was poetic, planted the wide yard 
with vines and flowers, made excursions after ferns and 
mosses, and busied herself indoors and out to make all love- 
ly and home-like. And she tried to become acclimated that 
she might be well, and strove as brave and earnestly, as 
Eose had done before her, to appreciate the new country and 
be contented and happy in it. But either her feelings were 
keener and stronger, or her constitution and self-control were 
weaker than Eose’s, for she could not attain even her de- 
gree of success. In a few seasons her health began to fail ; 
two of her babes died ; she was tortured with home-sick- 
ness, and, in spite of her efforts to be strong and cheerful, 
drooped and faded like a transplanted flower. The broad 
green prairies had pleased her at first; but now, sick in mind 
and body, their endless sameness and tameness, their slug- 
gish streams, and stagnant ponds and fens tired and op- 
pressed her ; and she longed unutterably for a sight of the 


468 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


bold scenery, the leaping brooks and gushing fountains of 
her native State. 

To one she wrote : “ Do take your pencil and sketch half 
a mile of those rocks and hills, and send to me as a change.” 
In another letter she said : “ In some of youi' free, happy 
rambles, take a long look at that dear old mountain for me 
I shall climb it no more.” 

All well, if I can but gain the everlasting hills 

But there is little help heavenward here ; very little good 
preaching or Christian society How I long for such privi- 
leges ; no Sunday-schools as I once enjoyed.’' .... During 
the terrible drought there in the summer of 18 — , she was 
tried greatly personally, but suffered most in sympathy 
with the dumb creatures around her. “ My heart aches for 
the poor panting beasts,” she wrote, striving to slake their 
thirst at stagnant ponds, green, warm, slimy, filthy ; and 
often driven several miles through heat and dust to secure 
even that. Their owners must suffer soon, for many wells 
are almost dry, and it is reported that they are already 
buying water in I . 

‘‘ You can not know what a priceless blessing you have in 
such an abundance of it, and so pure. Here a cool perennial 
spring is a luxury seldom, if ever, seen ; but how common 
there ; how often I think of them.”. .... In her illness, 
two springs at her early home, a thousand miles away, 
loomed before her like a mirage, and she would beckon and 
call, in her delirious rambling, for a draught from their 
limpid depths. “Water! water! from the little spring! 
A drink from the spring on the hill,” etc., she would cry. 
It was affecting to her attendants, and especially to one, 
^ho foreboded that the journey talked of would lead 
but to the grave ; and thinking thus, she gathered up 
the disjointed sentences and framed them into a sad pro- 
phetic song, or rather into a parody of the song 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


469 


"‘Carry me back, etc., 

Carry me home to die.” 

“We -will go East, when you get well,” her husband had 
said. And the doctor finally ordered this journey to be 
taken as soon as possible. Saying privately, “ There is but 
one hope, her native hills, her native air.” And Elma 
grasped at the hope, and thanked heaven for the order ; 
saying, “ There is but one sacred spot here to leave, — my 
children’s graves.” All else lured her away. 

Home ! native land ! there could be no balm like these. 
Health and happiness had been hers there in the past, and 
might be again, could she but live the old life over ; settle 
down with her iittle family in the old place, with the old 
friends around her ; the old joys, the old cares ; the old 
church near, with its solemn service, its faithful pastoi* and 
ciders, and Christian fellowship. Still feeble as an infant, 
yet eager to be gone ; she was carried from her bed to the 
carriage, from carriage to cars, from cars to boat. On, on, 
and trembling with mortal pain and weakness, yet hoping 
still, she bore up through a fortnight of burning da^^s and 
sultry nights ; enduring with heroic courage the slow-drag- 
ging, interminable miles of that teriible journey. — At last it 
ended. — Home was reached at last. 

It was a glorious day, the “bridal of earth and sky,” 
when all nature seemed to rejoice and smile her a welcome. 
The orchard was vocal with the song of birds. The yard 
abloom with fiowers. The cottage casements wreathed 'with 
roses and woodbine, when she was borne through its por- 
tals ; but silent and unseeing, for once, she heeded them 
not. Slowly, doubtfully she recognized all her friends, and 
feebly greeted them ; but that was all. She held sweet 
converse with none. Never once set foot on her “ native 
heath,” or even looked from the window on the hills and 
dales pined for so long. She had hoped, and planned, and 


470 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


longed, and suffered for this reunion ; but now it was too 

late, — too late Of all that had charmed, or pleased 

before, music alone retained any power to rouse or soothe ; 
but this she sometimes noticed, and asked for still. Once, 
while her friends stood around her at eve,, chanting soft 
and low a favorite hymn, the burden of its refrain being 

I’m going home, I’m going home, 

To sing and praise forever,” — 

she almost smiled ; and murmured that “ to such strains, 
she could listen till morning.” Ah, none knew how near 
the dawn approached, — the golden harps, the seraph’s 
song how near ! Five times the morning rose. Five times 
the twilight fell. Five days at home, — and then, in the 
darkness of midnight, and the unconsciousness of slumber, 
silen4;ly, without parting word, or look, or sign, she passed 
away. Meek sufferer, she had gained a fairer land, a 
sweeter home than this ; and yet to blind human eyes, to 
weak human hearts, this seemed a dark, inscrutable Provi- 
dence ; an end all untimely. Just when the stormy seas 
were crossed, the peaceful harbor reached ; anchored — 
safe anchored at last, — it was then the waves overwhelmed. 

Oh, it was pitiful, so pitiful. Even Rose Elmer’s disaj)- 
pointments and life-long exile, seemed scarcely so sad as 
this. Seemingly the long, perilous journey had been worse 
than in vain, the home-coming but a mockery, the fond 
hopes cruelly crushed ! 

So erring reason judged, and rebelled ; and though faith 
taught resignation to God’s wiU, yet it is not always easy 
for His tried children to submit and trust. But however 
they doubt and murmur against Him now, one day they 
will know there was a needs-be for every cross, and own 
that His ways were always wisest, and His time the best. And 
though the Christian may often cling to earth, and dread 
death, yet assuredly it can never be an evil to him ; never 
really come untimely, nor bring the eternal rest too soon. 


ROSE- AND ELZA. 


471 


CHAPTEE XLYI. 

“And Joseph died, and his brethren, and all that generation.’* 


“ The fields with flowers a-blowing, they all behind us lie. 

Our Autumn it draweth nigh. , 

But, O my friends, we are going to the Summer hills on high 

« 

“ The winds are beating and blowing, the frost on our heads is white. 
We are drawing near to the night. 

But, O my friends, we are going to the morning land of light. 

“ Our life is a twice-told story, that charm no longer lends. 

But, O my friends, my friends. 

We are coming close to the glory 
That never fades nor ends. 

The winter brings rough weather, and into its shade and gloom 
We go, and we never come. 

But, O my friends, we shall gather, together in heaven, our home.’* 


“ And parted thus they sleep who played 
Beneath the same green tree.” 

— Mrs. Hemans, 

But these actors “stay too long; they weary us”; they 
must pass off, and leave their places to others. But ere 
they make their final exit we will glance at some of them 
once more. Enter Teddy M. In spite of his faults, Ted 
was always a sort of favorite in the circle where he had 
grown up ; but this was wholly owing to his sunny, con- 
tented disposition, and kind, grateful heart, that never for- 
got friends or favors; and not at all to wealth or accomplish- 
ments, of which he never gained any to sp>eak of ; nor to 
personal graces, of Avhich he had none at all ; in fact, poor 
Teddy was decidedly homely. He was of medium height, 
stoutly built, with round, broad shoulders, and well-grown 
hands and feet. His muddyish-complexioned, square-shaped 


472 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


visage, seldom cleanly shaved, was deeply lined with thought 
or care, and lighted by a pair of smallish eyes of no particu- 
lar hue, that peered out from beneath shaggy, beetling brows. 
His head was large, or appeared so, from the heavy growth 
of coarse, bristly, flaxen hair that covered it, and stood up 
stoutly, defying brush and comb. His clothes (even his 
church suit) always looked rusty and out of style, for they 
were bought with an eye to economy, and Vv^orn for use and 
comfort, not show ; and to see “ young Teddy with his 
beaver on ’’ was no , great sight at all, for it usually hinted 
only that a great deal had occurred ‘‘ since that old hat was 
new.” But — then, withal, — the lack-lustre eyes had a 
shrewd, kindly twinkle; the homely mouth a pleasant smile; 
the loud voice a hearty ring ; and the grasp of the rough 
hand was always warm and cordial. Egotistical he certainly 
was very; but then his manner of boasting was so artless 
and child-like ; he praised himself in such an honest, matter- 
of-fact way, just as he might have lauded some other woi*thy 
man, that folks did not mind it much ; and his friends only, 
laughed, and said, It’s just Ted’s way,” and so let it pass, 
and went on liking him to the' end ; for an affection like 
his, that can be trusted, (pure, unselfish, unchanging,) 

usually begets the same, notwithstanding infii’mities 

Once, after a long absence, he visited a branch of the old 
family that had sheltered his infancy ; and it was a study to 
note (despite the rude exterior) with what unerring instinct 
the new members of it, both brute and human, detected at 
once the genial, sunny nature. Children dropped their play 
to hover near, and hang on his words. Tabby, though often 
averse to strangers, stroked and purred around his feet ; 
and scarcely was he well settled in a snug corner till the 
cunning lap-dog raised its silky head, and after a keen glance 
and an inquiring sniff or two, leaped into his arms, and 
curled down confidingly to sleep. — He was an old man now; 
and those that had been the infant fondlings of his youth 
were no longer young, though this he could hardly realize. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


473 


“ Here is one of my babies,'' he said to one, as he pressed 
her hand, and caressingly patted her head ; then, with an 
incredulous air, half sad, half comic, exclaimed, “ But, Sissy, 
what makes your hair so white f " 

He had had another such surprise not long before, he 
said. A stranger, an elderly lady, richly dressed, had de- 
scended from a carriage and entered his door. Presently, 
seeing he did not recognize her, she had cried out : 

“ Oh, Teddy, don’t you know me ? Not know your baby 
you bought for a penny f " 

And, sure enough, this matron, with children married, 
this faded grandame, was really the plaything of his boy- 
hood ; the wee Lida, that he had once purchased from Lois 
for one new penny. 

And then he talked of his first pet, the little Rowland, 
whose brief, sweet life and early death had never been 
forgotten by him, saying, that though he had lost many a 
friend since then, and had buried children of his own, jet 
no trial had ever been so keen as this “ first great grief,” 

“ For the little boy that died.’' 

Ted M. had a rarely affectionate nature ; and all those 
early friends, old and young, great and small, were kept in 
kind remembrance ; and he loved, too, to visit the place 
where they had all dwelt together so long. 

Once, when one of those long-absent playmates returned to 

F , they made the j)ilgrimage together to the quiet, grassy 

graves, and to all the olden haunts, once as dear and familiar 
to the dead as to them ; and together sought out and iden- 
tified lost localities, and recalled forgotten traditions. 
Here was the ancient homestead. What endless scenes it 
had witnessed ; over this worn threshold what crowds had 
come and gone. What laughing throngs had gathered here 
to quilting-bees, and sewing-bees, and spinning-bees ; yes. 


474 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


bees on bees, of every kind, had held their busy murmur 
here. And here sermons had been heard, and sin£rin<3f 
circles, and praying bands had met. Ah, and here life, with 
all its vicissitudes, had passed : the common daily life of 
their family, with its toil and rest, its good and ill, its lights 
and shadows, its births, bridals, burials, for three genera- 
tions. It was dear to them “from turret to foundation.’' 
It was full, and overflowing, with memories ; and every 
room, and closet, and recess had its story. Even the 
slightest trifles were suggestive and interesting to these 
ancient, long-parted friends. 

“ Here,” said Ted, stooj)ing down and gazing intently at 
a spot near the hearth, “ here is a mark that none now above 
ground knows but me.” The rest saw there only a small 
auger-hole in the kitchen floor, nothing more ; but to him 
it brought back, in a moment, a fair picture from the past. 
A picture of that room, and its furnishing, and its inmates, 
as they were sixty years before. He saw -the winter sky 
without, and the blazing hearth within, and the familiar 
forms and faces grouped around it. The gray-haired foster- 
parents, in their easy-chairs, on one side — Frederick working 
briskly on the other at a little sled ; and himself, the proud 
owner, hovering near, helping and hindering, impoiiant and 
delighted. “And that was the day that this board was 
marred,” he added; “ for in boring the sides of my sled, Fred 
carelessly bored through it, too, and grandpa rated him for 
it, soundly. Ah, many a day Homer and I played with that 
first sled.” 

“ This was the store-room,” said another, looking through 
a broken casement. “ On that left-hand shelf Katrina kept 
her sweetmeats; seven jars of preserves, of as many different 
kinds, stood there, besides the honey and jelly crocks, to 
tempt our infantile honesty.” That room opening to the 
rising sun had been Elza’s in her girlhood ; and this, gilded 
by its setting beams, her parents’. This latter had witnessed 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


475 


the exit of Paul in his hoary age, and of Katrina in her 
prime, of Kowland and Lucy in infancy, and Eosa in her 
girlhood. There, on the right, was the assembly-room on 
solemn and state occasions, where brides had blushed at the 

altar, and the dead had slept in their shrouds And 

so on, and on, tliey went from room to room, up-stairs and 
down, from cellar to attic, still gazing, musing, sighing. 
But there were a thousand things to interest them without, 
also, and they passed on. 

Yonder,” said Teddy, pointing to a tall, beautiful tree — 
“I knew that maple when it was but a yard high. We were 
clearing that field then, and I had the hoe at its root when 
Frederick called out to me, ‘Let that one stand, Ted.’ ” 

“ And do you see that bit of crumbling wall on the bank 
of the creek, under the beeches and alders ? That is the 
ruins of the old spring house we built oilrselves when chil- 
dren. I was head-mason myself that day.” 

“Here you are yet,” cried another, bending over the 
Bedstone and apostrophizing the minnows and water- witches 
darting and sporting over and under its sj)arkling surface. 
“Here they are yet, Ted, in the same spot, and looking the 
same as when we played here together.” 

“ Yonder,” said a third, starting toward a clump of alders 
and kalmias, “is aunt. Eosa’s spring. Come and let us all 
drink to Eose’s memory.” .... 

Along time they looked and loitered and talked, now going 
forward, now lingering to gaze and ponder. But it was 
growing late, and, for the last time pausing on a rising 
gTound, they once more swept the landscape o’er, and 
looked a silent adieu. Then all turned homeward to their 
temporary lodgings, and a few hours later they also parted 
asunder, bidding each other what proved a final farewell. 

Years had passed between this visit of Ted’s with his early 
mates and the date of this chapter; and now on this occa- 


476 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


sion he greatly desired to make a similar pilgrimage to the 
old plantation, remarking how long he had been absent from 
that place, where he had once hoped and expected to live 
and die. 

It was winter now, and the fields were covered with snow; 
yet despite the dreary weather and his own age and feeble- 
ness, he persisted in going, and even made a much wider 
circuit than usual, going over ground untrodden since boy- 
hood. 

And then having stood once more in every favorite spot, 
and viewed and reviewed “each memorable scene,” he 
seemed content, and, returning, took a wistful leave of the 
friends, and went his way, and they saw him no more. It 

was his last visit. He returned to his home in O , and 

died there a few months afterward. 

Of the M.’s, that band of brothers, whose visit together is 
mentioned in a former chapter, and whose first play-place 
was the shady banks of the “ fair Susquehanna and the blue 
Juniata,” of the after-life of these not much can be told. 

This much is known, though : that all were diligent, enter- 
prising youth, who entered business early and conducted 
it ably, and with a good degree of success. Most, or all, 
married young, and took each his separate course ; but the 
history of one was but brief. James, the Benjamin of the 
family, and a character of uncommon loveliness, died shortly 
after his union, leaving his bride and all his father’s house 
to weep and bewail him with a great and bitter mourning. 

The others were soon scattered far and wide in different 
directions, and each choosing the place he thought best, 
settled there for life. Dauphin moved to Western Penn- 
sylvania ; Danley, north to C ; and Warren, west to 

I . The small city where the latter dwelt is a great city 

now. His home there is worth $1,000,000 ; and, as he was 
one of the early and leading citizens, a broad avenue, three 
miles long, still bears his name. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


477 


Robert remained in D , and became an earnest work- 

ing member of the O. S. P. ChuTch there; a ruling elder, 
superintendent of the Sabbath-school, etc., but died in 
the midst of his days. Useful and happy in life, and bound 
to it by ties many and strong, death seemed hard, and his 
friends watched its approach with dismay, but he with 
calmness. The day before his last he was heard repeating, 

I would not live alway, 

I ask not to stay,” etc., 

and thus sweetly submissive to the Master’s will, died in 
peace. 

The mother had died at sixty-five, the father at ninety ; 
and these two, James and Robert, who went earhest, were 
buried with them ; and the sea holds one. But the other 
three, with the three sisters, who had emigrated, found 
homes at distant points, and lived there till old age, and 
there found their graves. Danley, the third son, lived and 

died in C , beyond N F . He survived all the 

other eight brothers and sisters, living to the ripe age of 
eighty-seven. He had been ailing somewhat before his 
aged wife’s death, and her end probably hastened his own. 
Up to that time he had sat up a part of every day ; but 
from the hour that the dear coffined form was carried 
to his bedside for the last farewell, and borne from the 
house, he failed rapidly. 

To the loving children this parting scene was unutterably 
sad and affecting. But the separation was brief. Another 
lioon waned, and he had followed her.* Both bore their 
sufferings wdth Christian patience, and found Jesus precious 
to the end ; and near the sanctuary where they had wor- 


* Mrs. Mary M. died Dec. 15th, between 7 and 8 p.m. Danley died 
four weeks and five days later, on Jan. 19tli, at 20 minutes to 3 
o’clock A.M., 18 — , in the old homestead loved so long. 


478 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


shipped Him so long, they rest together in hope till the 
resurrection morn. 

Many other families mentioned in these pages scattered 
as early and as widely as the M.’s. Of the T. band, one 
daughter died in N. J., and one son in Va. Delia and 
Ethan lie under long-lost mounds in a deserted bury- 

ing-ground in S , Elza and Dauphin in N — — . Kose 

Elmer sleeps in a lonely Quaker kirkyard on the banks of 
the Ohio; Kowland, in a crowded city cemetery in Ken.; 
and Freclsrick, the last of his generation, afar from the 
graves of wives and children, distant alike from early friends 
and later ones, was laid with strangers near a village church 
in Col. 

So end these brief memoirs. Thus these family circles 
were formed and broken — ^parted in life, and in death di- 
vided, yet reunited now. Happy thought, that all the pious 
dead have met above, to part no more ! Yes, though brief 
its history here, yet blessed be God for the Christian home 
on earth — yea, thrice blessed for the hope of an eternal 
home in heaven. 


It is said that some romantic people desire all their read- 
ing (even if true) to take the form of fiction — be full of 
titles, high-born lords and courtly dames, plots and 
counter-plots ; while on the other hand, grave, matter-of- 
fact folks want all as plain and easy as A B C, and frown 
on even such slight fictions as assumed names and false ini- 
tials. With neither of these classes, then, will the first 
forty-six chapters of this work find favor ; but possibly the 
following three will please some of the latter. For though 
no more real than former ones, they seem so ; because here 
they will read of historical events, persons, and places, and 
see their own and their neighbors’ names. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


479 


CHAPTEK XLVn. 

For the suppression of vice and the advancement of virtue, she 
hath done what she could. 

It has been said that Mrs. E. L. Custead, long known to 
the public as Narcissa,” “ The Woman’s Friend,” “ The 
Invisible Watcher,” etc., was the first writer against the 
liquor traffic in Fayette County ; and this is probable, as it 
is certain that her first articles on that subject were written 
several years before a temperance society of any kind ex- 
isted here, or had even been heard of. But with a natural 
womanly shrinking from publicity, these first papers were 
for some time only shown to intimate friends, to be read in 
private circles, and not printed till later, and then only un- 
der a nom de phtme. For, as one can see, it needed much 
moral courage for a female to attack this hoary evil alone, 
this established business, deemed both lawful and respecta- 
ble, and one which half her neighbors were engaged in. 

It was a common statement then, that every fourth or 
fifth farmer kept a distillery, and this was not incredible to 
IVIrs. C., for she saw them wherever she went, and there 
were four in operation within two miles of her own resi- 
dence. 

As great darkness and ignorance prevailed concerning 
this business then, many judged good citizens were con- 
nected with it, and of the owners of these four nearest man- 
ufactories, two or three, with their wives, were professing 
Chiistians, and friends of Mrs. C.’s, at whose homes she 
found pleasant and goodly society. But having a very piti- 
ful, compassionate heart, there was one thing that fre- 
quently marred her comfort, and that was the knowledge 
that however good and prosperous her friends were, and 
however happy they, she, and other guests were together. 


480 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


yet there were many other visitors to their premises who 
were neither good nor happy ; but on the contrary, both 
they and their families were poor, ignorant, miserable, and 
degraded. And who was to blame for this ? Where was 
the remedy ? 

These were questions that wearied and perplexed her 
mind. In the course of time she found a sadly favorable 
oppoi-tunity for studying the whole subject, for several fam- 
ilies of this class became her near neighbors, ^ud a doleful 
neighborhood they made. The husbands, though men in 
their prime, who might have provided well, were habitual 
drinkers who wasted both time and wages at the stiU- 
houses ; and, as a natural consequence, their children, hun- 
gry and in rags, roved around, idle and mischievous, and 
often begging their bread from door to door. 

Their wives, poor women, were wretched, neglected, de^ 
spised, overworked, ill-fed, ill-clad, and many a time turned 
out of doors. Driven out into the storm and darkness with 
drunken curses and heavy blows, they were forced to seek 
shelter at a neighbor’s, or in some out-house or thicket till 
morning, though some less timid would wait near till the 
madmen slept, and then venture to creep stealthily back to 
their beds and their children, fearing to leave their babes 
so long, and trusting that the danger for that time was over. 

To these hapless creatures, to whom life was one long 
struggle with want, and sorrow, and shame, Mrs. C. gave 
pity and sympathy without end, and material aid also, to the 
extent of her ability, and beyond it ; and yet, after all, how 
little could the efforts of one or two accomplish for the re- 
lief of so many ? 

And the compassion excited for these at home, soon ex- 
tended further; as she reflected that doubtless in every place 
where liquor was made or sold the world over, there such 
families as these were found, there such sad scenes as these 
were enacted, repeated, and going on forever. And the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


481 


thought that all the sin, and misery, and ruin of bodies and 
souls witnessed here was but as the dust of the balance 
compared to the sum total, appalled her soul. 

“ And must all this continue ? Is there no remedy ? she 
cried in anguish of heart. The longer she dwelt on the 
subject, the more terrible it appeared. Something must be 
done to stem the flood, and done speedily; for hers was a 
mind and conscience that, once aroused and enlightened, 
could sleep no more. 

But the force of education, of old customs, old prejudices, 
and, above all, of old friendships, was strong. What could 
she do ? Which way turn ? 

After long study and prayer, a course was pointed out for 
her to pursue, and thoughts were suggested to her mind 
which she felt constrained and compelled to accept and re- 
veal to others, for an all-powerful, all-impelling influence 
seemed to say, “This is truth, receive it.” “This is the 
way, walk thou in it.” 

And truly this path marked out for her was not one of 
flowery ease, but of hard service and full of difficulties. 
She would be mocked and laughed at, a “ busybody,” a “ set- 
ter-forth of new doctrines,” “ a woman out of her sphere,” 
etc. ; and foes would be made and friends lost. And then, 
too, her family cares were heavy and her health feeble; and 
feeling that she had absolutely no leisure for this work, and 
perhaps but little fitness for it, she shrank back from the 
task, and began to consider what scholarly man or lady of 
influence might possibly assume it in her stead. 

But none such appearing, and the duty still pressing 
heavily on her conscience, she was forced to assume it her- 
self. But as she could secure neither leisure nor quiet by 
day for it, she was obliged to wait up, after the rest had 
retired, often waiting till eleven or twelve at night, and not 
unseldom holding at the same time a sickly, fretful babe in 
her arms ; and it was under such disadvantages that her 
21 


482 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


first paper on Temperance (and many subsequent ones) 
was prepared for the public. 

Her first article was,* “ An Address to all Christians 
Engaged in the Rum Traffic,” and was a long, and ex- 
haustive argument, but only a few of the leading proposi- 
tions can be inserted here. Such as : • 

“If we believe God’s word, then we must know, and 
believe, that ‘no drunkard hath eternal life.’ Therefore 
it is our solemn duty to strive to preserve our felloio-men from 
the deadly snare of intemperance, 

“If, as all agree, drunkenness is a sin and a crime, then 
all tempting of men into this snare is also a sin and a crime. 

As all experience has proved that wherever liquor has 
abounded, there intemperance with all its kindred evils has 
also abounded ; therefore it is the duty of all Christians 
of whatever name or sex to discourage and discountenance 
the use and manufacture of the same. Therefore resolved, 
That the making and vending of intoxicating liquor as a 
beverage is a high crime against God and manf etc., etc. 

And these points, and similar ones, she went on to prove, 
and explain to others, by arguments both clear and con- 
vincing. 

Even at that early period, she seems to have seen as weU 
as at any future time, the full enormity of the evil ; and 
expresses her amazement that saint as well as sinner should 
be found engaged in so dreadful a trade. The distillery is 
mentioned by various titles throughout the paper, but all 
showing strong detestation — as a “Moloch,” a “Famine 
Breeder,” a “ Moral Pestilence,” a “ Stronghold of Satan,” 
etc. 

Again a huge distillery “pouring forth its smoke and 
steam, and spreading its vile spirits abroad to blight and 
curse the land,” is compared to a volcano “ belching out its 


* This article was afterward printed in a New York paper. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


483 


burning lava.” “ Blasting, destroying monsters both; but the 
former, far more terrible, in that it brings not only tem- 
poral, but eternal ruin and so on through several pages. 

When these Theses were first scattered round they made 
some commotion in the quiet, rural neighborhood ; for 
though these ideas are old-fashioned, trite truisms now, they 
were radical and startling then ; enough so as to amaze 
most people, and subject their author to some petty perse- 
cution and loss. The temperance star had not then arisen, 
it must be remembered, and though drunkenness was judged 
base and wicked, yet drunkard-making was not. The poor, 
weak, tempted inebriate was a wretched sot to be despised ; 
but the tempter, whose liquor made him such, if of sober 
habits himself, was generally deemed guiltless and respecta- 
ble. So, of course, this bold attempt to degrade and dis- 
courage the business, and to lower the maker and vender 
of the poison into the same class with the drinker, and give 
them a very liberal share in the sin and disgrace, was re- 
sented by the fraternity, as audacious and absurd to the 
last degree. 

It roused the old Adam even in some truly worthy men, 
heirs to large farms and fine orchards. “ Our brandy is a 
good creature of God,” they said, ‘‘ to be used, not abused. 
If some will take enough to make brutes of themselves, it is 
their own fault, not ours.” “ Stop the stills indeed ! and 
sell our grain at half price, and let our fruit lay and rot ! ” 
“ What womanish nonsense, what zeal without knowledge is 
this. Besides, Paul had taught that females should ‘ keep 
silence, and not usurp authority over, or offer to teach 
men.’ ” Let sister C. heed that. 

Others really favorable to the cause, but of moderate 
views, thought hers extreme, and tried to check or change 
them, — called her an “ Enthusiast,” Intemperately temper- 
ate,” etc. ; and even ventured to quote as pertinent, “ Thou 
art beside thyself ; much learning (or thinking) doth make 


484 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


thee mad.” But while such assented feebly, or with pro- 
visos, and others opposed the doctrine openly, or ridiculed 
it privately ; a few received it cordially, and encouraged 
the writer to persevere, by reading her articles with inter- 
est and pleasure themselves, and by taking copies to read 
and talk of in other circles also. Two or three of these 
were persons of influence, who were also looking and hop- 
ing for some change for the better, and it was one of the 
three who not long after brought to the anxious “ Watcher” 
the first glad news, that in some parts of the land the ref- 
ormation had begun, and that at one point, at least, a few 
had formed a kind of league against Alcohol, called a Tem- 
perance Society ! This was glorious news indeed, if true, 
and it was soon confirmed, and ere long a similar one was 
organized here, — probably in or a little beyond Smithfield. 

And now, as the mighty, many-voiced public had un- 
dertaken the matter, private individual effort seemed less 
necessary; and Mrs. C., for one, was more than willing to 
relinquish her part to abler hands. Eegular officers hav- 
ing advanced, she essayed to yield place and aims to 
them, and retire ; but it was not permitted. “ The con- 
flict would be long and fierce,” they said. “ Soldiers brave 
and firm were needed.” .... And thus, though she 
willed it not so, — so it was, that her warfare, instead of 
being finished, was but begun. Only a volunteer, a substi- 
tute for the first campaign, tiU others came forward to lead 
the van, then she would fall back among the rank and file ; 
this had been her thought, but as it proved, she was de- 
tailed and “ ’listed for life,” as one of the chief workers. 

She was led into her first continuous work for the society 
rather accidentally (or was it providentially ?), in this way. 
One or more of the leaders, sitting with her and her hus- 
band one evening, were speaking of various persons who 
kept aloof from the meetings, and on whom the new light 
had no effect except to embitter their minds. Some of 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


485 


these were grave, useful citizens, some loose and rowdy 
ones ; very different characters, and yet alike in prejudice, 
equally blinded by self-interest, and at one in their hostihty 
to the new movement. As they would not attend the lec- 
tures, or listen to reason, how were they to be reached ? 
“ Oh,” said IVIrs. C., smiling, “ if the incorrigibles will not 
come out to get their portion, we must send it to them, — 
send them letters full of it.” “ That is the very idea,” cried 
the president.* ‘‘ So we will. Almost any one would read a 
personal letter ; and you, madam, shall be our scribe.” But 
she had spoken playfully, and felt like demurring at being 
taken up in earnest. True, she had written much on the 
subject, and with great freedom too, but this writing to in- 
dividuals was a different thing. However, she consented to 
think over the matter, and this thinking resulted in the pro- 
duction of epistles suited to all the cases that had been men- 
tioned. These being read and approved by the leading 
spirits, she was engaged to write others, and as order af- 
ter order' came, she finally promised to fiU all to the best 
of her ability ; i, e., to forward a letter to each address 
furnished her. And she kept her word ; and so far from 
grooving weary in this, and similar work, became more and 
more earnest the longer she lived, and the more she 
saw of this deadly evil. In one article she says, ‘‘ My 
soul is continually harrowed up, by hearing or reading 
of some dreadful outrage, accident, or crime caused by 
intemperance.” Probably she included occurrences in 
her own district, where different persons of intemperate 
habits had met untimely ends. One man after a night’s 
carouse was found dead in the road, mangled, and 
partially devoured by swine. Another sot, and this a 
woman (living within half a mile of her), was burned to 
death, as was thought by spontaneous combustion. Some 


*A. G. Fairchild, D.D. 


486 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ruslied madly and unbidden to the judgment ; and two of 
these poor suicides had in happier days often sat at her 
board. 

Such cases known, and worse ones read of by the scores 
and hundreds, intensified her hatred to the cause of all 
these horrors, the distilleries, more and more ; and roused 
her to strive unceasingly, and with all her powers against 
them,* and everything else that tempted to drinking. They 
were her abhorrence, and she protested against them, and 
the whole iniquitous business, in season and out of season, 
with impetuous zeal. In all companies, at home and abroad, 
or wherever met, she upheld, and in all possible ways dis- 
seminated, the principles of the society, gave glowing de- 
scriptions of its high aims, mass-meetings, lectures, and 
music ; and invited, and urged all to attend them, and see 
and hear for themselves ; and to home missionaries, book 
agents, travelling merchants, and all trusty messengers, 
gave songs and leaflets to scatter as they went. 

She was a frequent contributor to the columns of two 
journals, and an occasional one to several others ; and wrote 
and published at her own expense small editions of several 
tracts on the subject, for distribution ; the largest treating 
both of War and Intemperance as the two master evils, 
containing over seventy pages. 

Few common letters ever closed without some word for 
the good cause, and then there was that continuous unique 
correspondence that she had undertaken in its service at the 
first, that continued through life, viz., that of writing per- 
sonally to every obdurate distiller and dram-seller in the 
county. State, and elsewhere, so far as their addresses could 
be obtained. Nor did she stop at this, but also sent strong 
circulars to the whole clan, coppersmiths, farmers, and others 

* At first she with others had deemed the light wines, beer, etc., 
innoxious ; but further light proving them also to be dangerous, 
thenceforth Total Abstinence was the watchword. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


487 


who, by furnishing stills, produce to feed them, or in some 
other way were engaged in aiding the infamous trade. 

Many of these papers, and others, have abeady been be- 
fore the public in one form or another, and as a tithe of 
them insei-ted here would swell tliis volume beyond bounds, 
only a few selections can be given at present. 

This first production following, was called out in 1850 in this 
way. Some young gentlemen of the neighborhood having 
taken it upon them to review and criticise the “ poets and po- 
etry of Fayette County,” Grayham, W. W. E., Ellen Douglas, 
Oleon, Selma, Blythe, J. A., and others, with their sonnets and 
subjects ; saw good to begin with the “ Watcher or Woman's 
Friend ” as the eldest of the bards, and the one who had 
written longest and most. But while praising her noble 
aim in writing, and acknowledging the general force and 
onginality of her articles, they point out various instances 
of faulty construction, and careless measure ; and note 
again, and again, her almost entire neglect of descriptive 
poetry, the highest style of all. They say, “Mrs. Custead 
makes no pretensions to learning, but she is a lady of re- 
flective mind, refined taste, and excellent judgment, with 
much originality and strength of conception, and expression. 
We should judge also that she had read much, and intelli- 
gently ; for one who writes so copiously and fluently, must 
surely have first become well acquainted with the styles and 

manners of our principal classics But though residing 

at the base of a vast chain of the Alleghanies, where on the 
one hand there is all that grandeur which mountain scenery 
only can afford, and on the other, aU the beauties of varie- 
gated nature spread around ; yet aU these her muse passes 
by, to dwell on the ills and evils of life. War, Intemperance, 
etc. It is very seldom her pen touches on description, and 
then only incidentally.” .... Again, “ Few or none of her 
poems are ideal, or descriptive.” Then follow a number 
of her songs, interspersed with candid praise and criticism, 
which we must perforce omit. 


488 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


On reading this long article in the Weekly, Mrs. C. sat 
down and wrote this response to a part of their criticism, 
which appeared in the same paper : 

MY REASONS FOR NOT WRITING DESCRIPTIVE 
POETRY. 

Some wonder that I do not sing 
The beauties of returning spring, 

Of rainbow, streamlet, sun and shower. 

Of rock and woodland, plant and flower, 

Of mountain high and lowly dells, 

Of bleating flocks and tinkling bells. 

Of birds that o’er the landscape fly. 

Of pearly dew and azure sky. 

Of summer bright, of autumn sere. 

Of winter ruthless, cold and drear. 

Of hurricanes and whirlwinds dire. 

Of volcanoes emitting fire. 

Tornadoes sweeping o’er the plain. 

And vessels wrecked upon the main ; 

Of thunder-clouds, and snow-storm’s path. 

Where Boreas pours forth all his wrath. 

All these and many wonders more, 

I oft have thought of long before ; 

And while these scenes my thoughts employ, 

I keenly suffer or enjoy. 

But should I write of songs a score. 

It would not make one beauty more. 

Or tell of all this dire distress, 

I could not make one evil less. 

But when I execrate the stills. 

And sadly sing of woman’s ills. 

And when I raise my humble strain, 

To tell of men in battle slain. 

Of cities sacked, demolished walls. 

Of thousands crushed beneath their fall. 

Of shrieks and groans and pallid ^ears. 

Of blood and wounds, and sighs and tears, 

While fathers, mothers, infants lie 
And raise one last and dying cry. 


PwOSE AND ELZA. 


489 


And pierce the sad and injured air, 

And tell us mctory has been there, 

An object then I have in view. 

And still that object I’ll pursue. 

’Tis not because I love to dwell 
On gloomy images so well ; 

But woes and wickedness so dire, 

My inmost sympathies inspire ; 

And ’tis because I would impart 
Like sympathies to every heart, 

That I these scenes present to view. 

That you may see and feel them, too. 

And when you witness so much grief. 

May help me to procure relief. 

This is the point I have in view. 

And still this object I’ll pursue. 

And pursue it she did, with all her powers. At one time 
she addressed a strong circular to “ All Coppersmiths,” and 
one or more ringing songs also. A few sentences we quote : 
. . . . My friends, your responsibility is great, for if farm- 
ers will persist in selHng their grain to distillers, if distillers 
wiU turn it into spii-its, if men wiU drink it to their ruin ; 

yet you can stop the whole deadly work Make, mend 

no more stiUs for any price, .... and the trade must stop. 
. ... We beseech you in the name of humanity, take pity 
on a sinful, suffering world, and henceforth and forever 
make no more stills.” 

“You say, ‘We need the price they bring. Stills pay us 
well, very well.’ But oh — 

“ Remember, my friend, when your hammer you take, 

To fashion a soul-killing monster with care. 

Remember, I pray you, the hearts it will break. 

Oh think of the souls it will sink in despair. 

The pay you receive for the Moloch you rear, 

Is bribery in its most shameless display, 

'Tis the price of the heart-broken widows’ sad tears ; 

And can you be happy receiving such pay ? 

21 * 


490 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


*Tis the price of the curses and blasphemous breath, 

That the drunkard pours forth, as all reeling he goes; 

’Tis the price of starvation, of pestilence, death, 

’Tis the price of eternal, unspeakable woe, 

’Tis the price of the homicides dreadful and drear, 

Tis the price of the parricide, bloodier still, 

'Tis the price of the suicides, horrid to hear, 

Tis the price of damnation, more horrible still. 

All, all these foul horrors sent up from below. 

Are lodged in its bosom, and there to remain 
Till the fell fires are kindled that under it glow, 

And then its poor victims by thousands are slain. 

The breath of the furies is fanning the flame. 

And causing the ill-fated caldron to boil. 

The smoke issues forth as from Tophet it came. 

And scatters foul spirits and horrors the while. 

The while, did I say ? Ah ! would it were so. 

But these horrors to endless duration remain. 

And can you be happy while causing such woe ? 

And can you be happy receiving such gain ? ” 

A young coppersmith that she had often argued with, and 
reproved for his still-making, one summer left the shop 
awhile, not at all from principle, though, but only because 
the temperance movement and other causes had made trade 
very dull. He was poor in health and poorer in pocket, and 
thinking that a tinkering expedition through the country 
might help both and be amusing, too, he gathered up a kit 
of light tools and set out. Stopping the first week near 
Mrs. C., he called, and told her ‘‘ he was an honest tinker 
going out to seek his fortune, and she must write him a 
jolly song to sing by the way.” But she seeing that he was 
as giddy as ever, and not in the least penitent for past mis- 
deeds, called them up before him in these serio-comic 
rhymes: 

A WANDERING TINKER’S COMPLAINT. 

I am a poor tinker, and sad was the day 
When, forced from my home and my shop to depart, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


491 


I took up my knapsack and hurried away, 

And sad was my prospects and sad was my heart. 

I had labored at still-making many a day, 

And many poor neighbors to ruin had brought ; 

But still I worked on, for I wanted the pay, 

And of their destruction ’twas seldom I thought. 

But now, since the tempefance star has arisen. 

And poured forth its powerful radiance around. 

The world has determined to shake off its chains. 

And to purchase my soul-killers no one I found. 

I now thought it needful my solder to take, 

And mend up the kettles and coffee-pots too ; 

And so fo my journey I did me betake. 

With little or naught but the work I could do. 

But, ah ! as I passed through the country around. 

And strove to sing blithely, and laugh and be gay. 

Much poverty, sin, and intemperance I found. 

And ofttimes, alas ! I could not get my pay. 

They hailed me with joy as they saw me draw near, 

And set me to work without further delay ; 

But soon they would tell me my charge was too dear, 

And that they had little or nothing to pay. 

** Ah me ! ” said the wife, when my labor was done, 

“ I much fear to pay you is what I can’t do. 

The money I saved to the still-house is gone.” 

And soon I perceived that her words were too true, 

For now a poor drunkard came reeling along. 

And with curses he 1 )aded the trembling air. 

Whilst his poor, injured consort wept o’er her wrongs, 

And the children stood quivering and mute with despair. 

I now turned my thoughts on the stills I had made, 

I now saw the sin and the woe I had wrought. 

And, oh ! let me nevermore work at a trade 

That to thousands on thousands such rain hath brought. 

This was by no means the style of document that gay 
Willie had desired ; but he pocketed both song and affront 
debonairly, anl went laughing away. Possibly this, and 
other serious words dropped in his ear, might have had 
some effect. At any rate, she heard of him afterward as a 


482 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


professor in a city church and a teacher in its Sabbath- 
school. 

Of the numerous letters to distillers, the following is in- 
serted — not that it is better than others, or so good, but 
from one or two things connected with it, viz. : the person 
to whom it was sent was a wealthy, haughty man at the 
time ; but the treasures of wickedness did not profit. He 
died poor, it was said, and heart-broken ; and it was to him 
and for him that the well-known song, “ Stiller’s Confes- 
sion,” was first written as a part of this letter: 

Dear Sir : — Please pardon the intrusion of an entire stranger, 
and believe I am only induced to take this step through the great 
anxiety I feel for you and others as my fellow-travellers to eternity. 
Some time ago a friend desired me to write to you as one who, he 
said, ‘ had withstood all the light of the temperance reformation, 
.... slighted the warnings of friends and the pleadings of weeping 
wives and mothers,’ and famishing children. But when, find- 
ing a little leisure, I called to say I was ready to write, he quite 
discouraged it, and shocked me exceedingly by saying, ‘He is 
joined to idols ; let him alone.’ But I can not give you up yet ; and 
though I fear the Holy Spirit is about to leave you, I send you 
this one more warning, .... and may the Lord bless it to your 

soul, etc., etc I enclose you some verses, also, appropriate to 

every rich, successful distiller who dies without saving repentance. 
Please read them with prayerful attention.” 

THE DYING STILLER’S CONFESSION. 

I’ve sold all my whisky, I’ve made immense gain. 

Have cast down the purest, the strongest have slain — 

Done more for my master than robber or thief, 

Filled hell with sad victims, and earth with deep grief. 

I’ve sold all my whisky, made drunkards by scores. 

Brought famine and misery and death to their doors. 

Caught hundreds of souls in my well-contrived snare, 

And now I am going their ruin to share. 

I’ve sold all my whisky, sunk ships in the waves. 

Driven steamboats to atoms, their crews to their graves. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


493 


Wrecked cars upon railroads, set cities on fire, 

Brought plague, cholera, madness, with horrors most dire. 

IVe sold all my whisky, broke many a heart. 

Caused weeping and woe, sped the murderer's dart. 

Filled households with terror, robbed children of bread. 

And the way to perdition their fathers have led. 

I’ve sold all my whisky, and life’s fleeting fast ; 

My sins, red as crimson, have found me at last. 

I’m summoned to meet with the victims I’ve slain, 

• Forever to share their unspeakable pain. 

I’ve sold all my whisky. Ye dram-sellers, come ; 

Take warning by me, and escape my sad doom ; 

Cease, cease to entangle mankind in your snare, 

Ere ye, too, sink down to eternal despair. 

I’ve sold all my whisky. Ye drunkards, attend. 

Oh, hasten, I charge you, your doings amend. 

For I tremble to meet you on that dreary shore 

Where the offers of mercy will greet us no more. 

I’ve sold all my whisky, and vengeance draws nigh. 

My days are all wasted, and now I must die. 

The pit of destruction stands open for me. 

Let others take warning, and hasten to flee. 

Soon after this missive was mailed, the unsuspecting John 

Jones, hving in or near Z one of the river towns, 

strolled into the post-office and received it. Supposing it 
from some dealer, perhaps an order for half a boat-load of 
his whisky and brandy, and requiring a speedy answer, he 
stepped into the next-door grocery where several of his 
friends were sitting, and, tossing it to one of them, said : 
‘‘ There, ’Squire, you’re used to all kinds of writing. Please 
read that for me.” 

The lawyer assenting, broke the red seal, but scarcely had 
he begun to roll forth the strange periods before the rest 
pricked up their ears, astonished and amused ; and the 


494 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


owner, blushing and confused, stalled up and demanded 
the thing back. But “ possession being nine points of the 
law,” the other held it fast, and read the louder, only paus- 
ing to retort: 

“ Be quiet there, Jones. You bade me read it aloud, and 
I will.” 

And the rest cried : “ That’s true.” “ That’s fair.” “ Go 
on, Squire.” “Let’s hear it all.” “Silence, Jones! ” “Give 
us his confession. Squire.” “ Go on, go on.” 

And so, the others cheering, and Jones fuming, it was 
finished ; and he scowling at his laughing, mischievous 
chums, snatched and crushed the incendiary sheet into his 
breeches pocket, and strode away, vowing to “ find that 
scamp of a scribbler and drub him well for his pains.” 

To another distiller who informed the public that his 
whisky was unusually good, she wrote the following: 

“ Yes, yes, my friend, 

’Tis good to sharpen sorrow’s smart, 

’Tis good to pierce the bleeding heart, 

’Tis good to make the widow sigh ; 

’Tis good to make the orphan cry. 

’Tis good to cause a father’s fears, 

’Tis good to cause a mother’s tears; 

’Tis good for curses, oaths, and blows, 

’Tis good to cause ten thousand woes. 

’Tis good the dearest friends to part, 

’Tis good to point the murderer’s dart ; 

’Tis good to make the wretch to moan, 

’Tis good to prompt the dying groan ; 

Good to make venders, drinkers, dwell 
Together in the depths of hell.” 

But this was too much of a good thing ; fai- more than 
the fellow cared to put in his card. 

Another had ‘‘ many barrels of liquor ready for sale,” etc., 
and she kindly added the following to his advertisement : 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


495 


“ We have barrels of liquor full many a score, 

Each holding a legion of devils or more ; 

All waiting and wishing for license to go, 

The world to o’erwhelm with starvation and woe; 

Such swine as receive them theyll enter therein, 

And drag them through all kinds of scandal and sin ; 

Then down the deep place they will cause them to go. 

And plunge in the ocean of fathomless woe.” 

A TJniontown dealer advertised “ choice liquors of aU 
kinds but she, thinking as of the others, that he had not 
been explicit enough, improved it in this fashion : 

“We have wine, rum, and brandy, we’ve whisky and gin. 

We have all kinds of snares and temptations to sin ; 

And if of good curses you want a supply, 

I tell you we’ve plenty, come hither and buy ; 

And if weary of life, you should wish for a grave. 

Here all kinds of sickness and death you can have ; 

And if down to Tophet you’re anxious to go. 

Our door opens wide to perdition, you know.” 

But somehow none of the churls would accept of her amend- 
ments. Not a soul of them ever added on the supplement. 

Hearing of a wealthy man who had a large distillery, and 
also an inn with its well-filled bar, she sent to the enter- 
prising gentleman a pungent letter and song, the latter be- 
ginning: 

“ While with avaricious mind. 

Foe alike to all mankind. 

He may scorn my humble lay. 

And my letter cast away ; 

Yet it is my pious aim 
Every stiller to reclaim. 

He who with capacious mind. 

Inn and still-house has combined. 

He my noblest theme shall be. 

And the king of stillers he ! ” etc. 


496 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


To a preacher who had added on to his parochial duties 
that of stniing ! she wrote : 

“ Rev. sir : I have twice heard you preach at S , and 

you spoke well But in your double capacity of soul- 

curer and soul-killer, I think you the greatest curiosity I 

have seen Your denomination think you a blot 

on it, ... . and a great injury to the cause of religion. 
What a singular account you must give of your ministry at 
last. You testifying that you ‘ warned souls against sin 
every Sunday,’ and they testifying that ^ you tempted them 
into it every other day of the week.’ ” . . . . Then followed 
one or -two songs ; one beginning : 

What is it makes a preacher still ? 

What is it makes a stiller preach ? 

Why lead poor souls the downward road. 

And yet the way to glory teach ? ” etc. 

The other, on ‘‘ The Eternal Closing up of a Groggery,” 
began : 

“ The scenes are all ended, the tales are all told, 

The songs are all sung, and the whisky’s all sold; 

Now songs turn to screams, and now mirth turns to moans. 
Now joy turns to bowlings, and laughter to groans,” etc. 

This was a long and pretty severe espistle — as was mete. 
No class escaped her ; she wrote to persons who built 
still-houses ; to coopers who made whisky-barrels ; to em- 
ployers who served drams to their men ; to liquor-sellers’ 
wives and daughters, pleading for the drunkards’ families ; 
to the drunkards themselves ; and to editors, preachers, 
and others, begging them to use their influence to put down 
the great destroyer. To the farmer selling grain for 
distfllation, both circulars and private letters were sent, 
warning and dissuading them from such iniquity by all 
kinds of motives. Sometimes she talked of taxes, remind- 
ing them that intemperance not only doubled the num- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


497 


ber of paupers and felons, far more than doubled the 
sum of human want and sorrow, but also added one- 
half or three-fourths to their taxes. But whatever other 
motives were urged, she always dwelt longest and strongest 
on the enormity of the sin of turning the precious grain to 
poison at the distilleries, thus wasting the Master’s goods ; 
yea, wasting the grain a million times worse than as if they 
burned it to ashes. The poor inebriate, though falling 
through fierce appetite and sore temptation, is held guilty, 
and shunned and despised ; but are not his tempters far 
more guilty? The makers, the venders, yea, and you farmers, 
— all you who sin in cold blood for gain — who destroy your 
neighbors’ property and bodies and souls to enrich your- 
selves, are you not a hundred-fold more guilty than he? 
Paradoxical as it seems, it is not the drunkards who keep 
up drinking. 

“ They are too poor and besotted to carry on or aid even 
in so low and base a trade as whisky-making. No, it is the 
greedy and unprincipled part of the sober class, the keen 
business men, and unscrupulous farmers who are chiefly 
responsible. And if, as it is said, every bushel of grain dis- 
tilled yields between two and three gallons of the death- 
water, how many thousand gallons, sir, have your harvests 
these many years yielded ? And youi's ? And yours ? How 
many drunkards has it made ? How many families ruined ? 
How much sin and misery caused that will extend through all 
time, and eternity too ? And how will this gain, this price 
of blood, this price of souls, appear to you at death ? How 
will you meet it, how meet youi* unnumbered victims at the 
judgment ? ” 

Once, after the temperance light had dawned, a Christian 
farmer (in great need of money) was tempted into selling 
a quantity of grain to a distiller ; but such gain as was 
mete, brought him only shame and remorse ; and the re- 
membrance of it clouded and embittered his closing days. 


498 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


A sincere, though erring, child, God had granted him re- 
pentance and forgiveness, but he could not forgive himself. 
From this one reckless act of his, untold sin and misery 
must ensue. And he reflected that while he, a pardoned 
rebel, might be hymning cherubic strains before the throne, 
his poor victims would be joining in ribald song and drunk- 
en revelry around some dram-shop, pouring forth oaths and 
blasphemies in the fiendish fight;* be abusing their tattered, 
famished babes, or sunken in brutal debauch. But how- 
ever engaged, still sinking lower, and ripening faster for 
temporal and eternal ruin. And for a little gold, his rash 
hand had set all this evil in motion ; evil that would live 
after him, and outlast time itself. In the near light of 
eternity the thought was terrible. His friends strove to 
console him by saying, “ He had repented of his sin, and 


* One of her stiller’s letters says : “ Since I began this, a woman, 
who, with her meagre, half-clad children, exists in a hut on the moun- 
tain, has called, and says: ‘ You can tell Mr. some things his trade 

brings me.’ She has been turned out on winter nights into the dark- 
ness, bruised and bleeding, with no shelter but the lee-side of the 
cabin, and no warmth but what little she could gain by hovering close 
to the chimney ; and she has stood there shivering with cold and pale 
with fear, listening to the drunken madman storming and the children 
crying within, and he cursing and threatening to kill them because 
they cried for ' mamma. ’ They locked in with the fiendish sire, and 
she locked out, unable to reach or help them, should he murder all or 
set the house on fire. This, sir, is but one little note from her sad his- 
tory ; and now let me tell you what your inhuman trade did for Mr. 
J. , once a near neighbor of mine. Having gone a few miles from 
here, he soon, as was his wont, visited a still-house there for a spree, 
and staggered away in the night toward home with a full jug in his 
hand. But he never reached there. Several days after, a dog carried 
his head back to the still-house, and, on search being made, the rest of 
his bones were found scattered along the pathway, mangled and 
gnawed by dogs and swine ; and, to finish the picture, his old com- 
panion, the brown jug, — sole witness, sole cause of the murder,— lay 
close by.*' 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


499 


tliat was all he could do. It was no good to worry any 
more over what could not be changed,” etc. Miserable 
comforters ! This was the very essence of the grief, there 
the keenness of the pain, that it was done and could never 
be undone. 

When ‘‘Local Option” was the leading question of the 
day, she published “ An Appeal to Voters,” entreating them 
for this once, at least, to do their duty to God and man by 

following principle, not party Reminding them that 

the “ weal or woe of unborn generations would depend on 
the election, and that all eyes were on them. That a suffer- 
ing world, angels, devils, aye, and God himseK would watch 
the casting of their votes.” 

It was a strong paper of some length, and abounded not 
only in melting entreaty, but in hard sense and unanswer- 
able logic. . . .* . 

A Presbyterian by birth and profession, it grieved and 
astounded her in her latter years to discover that, hke many 
other denominations, her own had as yet no positive, un- 
changeable law excluding from it aU traffickers in liquor, 
though the times of ignorance on this evil had long passed. 
This thing troubled her so much that she wrote an article 
on the “ Duty of the Church,” aiid sent it to one of its chief 
organs. But the editor found it too keen and stringent for 
insertion, though he was polite enough to return her a full 
note explaining his reasons for withholding it — i.e., “ thought 
it too severe, as the church, as a whole, did oppose the 
traffic stoutly.” Near the same time, she dispatched a letter 
on the same subject to a young ministerial friend living at 
some distance, from which we quote a paragTaph or two : 

“ O Son of man, saith the Lord, I have made thee a watch- 
man to the house of Israel ; therefore thou shalt hear the 
word from my mouth, and warn them from me. If thou 
warn the wicked of his way .... and he turn not .... 
he shall die in his iniquity, but thou hast dehvered thy 
soul.” 


500 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


“ O son of man, I do not say that you have not warned 
the ‘ wicked man ’ from his way, but I do say that he has 
not turned from his way, but has entered your church, on con- 
dition that he will cease from his iniquity after he has wound 
up his business and paid his debts.' 

What an idea ! And how many famihes are to be made 
miserable, how many men ruined for both worlds that this 
wicked man may filch their money to pay his debts ! 
Wicked debts, too, that he contracted in enlarging his 
human slaughter-house, and in storing it with enough grain 
to keep it constantly turning forty bushels daily into poison. 
This man, you say, confesses that liquor-making is a 
crime, and yet he goes on practicing it. You preach that 
one soul is worth the universe, and yet receive into the church 
one who is destroying both souls and bodies with all his 
might, that he may secure their money to* himself. Who 
hath seen such a thing as this ? Who hath heard it ? 

But says one, He has never communed, and will not be 
allowed to till he winds up this business.” And, pray, will 
he be any better prepared then? Will the robbery and 
ruin of a few more score, or a few more hundreds of his 
fellows, prove that ‘‘ faith, and love, and new obedience ” 
that mark the worthy communicant? Will the blood of 
more souls still, purify and prepare him the better for the 
Lord’s table ? . . . . 

Oh, brother X., I assure you the reception of this rich 
sinner into a Christian society has disgraced and injured 
the cause of rehgion much, making the weak to stumble and 

the wicked to mock No respectable session would 

knowingly tolerate the name of a robber, a blasphemer, or 
a murderer on its roll. Then why receive those who cause 
multitudes to commit these same sins, and all other crimes 
by wholesale ? How can any Christian church, in this day 
of Gospel and temperance hght, dare smuggle a drunk- 
ard-maker and liis Moloch within its pale, and hope to be 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


601 


guiltless while thus injuring itself, the community, and its 
proselyte also, by encouraging him to believe that the way 
to heaven is broad and the gate wide? .... If your 
charge, my brother, and others, should, for the sake of wealth 
and numbers, persist in such unfaithfulness, so dishonoring to 
God, so ruinous to souls, such churches must be reported to 
Presbytery ; and if Presbytery fails to deal with them. 
Synod must deal with the Presbytery. If Synod can not 
effect the reformation needed, the whole affair should be 
laid before the highest court. But if the General Assem- 
bly itself prove lukewarm in the matter, or powerless to 
cast out such iniquity, tell it not in Gath ; but let us all 
remember Laodicea, and repent and weep, lest the fate of 
that ancient church be the fate of ours. 

When all this, and more of the same import, came down 
on his “ Biverince’s ” head,* it made both his ears to tingle; 
but so well did he understand the writer’s motives, and so 
much did he honor her zeal and courage, that this plain re- 
buke abated not a jot of his warm Christian friendship, 
which remained unchanged through life, or rather grew 
stronger. 

From an Address to Young Men w^e select six verses, 
omitting five verses. These latter describe the officers in 
Alcohol’s army, L e , the makers and venders, as those who 
secure all the offices, honor, and gold, while the drinkers, 
poor and wretched, toil to pamper the pride of them and 
their families. 

TO YOUNG MEN. 

“Ye young men, so careless and gay, 

Who boast you are happy and free. 

Take heed as you pass on your way, 

Or Alcohol’s slaves you will be. 


* Happily he was able to exonerate himself partially from the blame 
of this matter, though there was far too much truth in the report. 


502 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


His agents in coaches can ride, 

And pass his poor dupes with disdain ; 
And will you toil to pamper their pride, 
While you creep in his menial train ? 


For, wretched, despoiled, and debased, 
In poverty, hunger, and pain. 

In squalor, in sin, and disgrace. 

Are the followers in Alcohol’s train. 


O young man, beware of his wiles. 

You think you have nothing to fear ; 

But be watchful, I charge you the while ; 

Be prayerful, the tempter is near. 

Oh, fly from the dram-seller’s door ; 

Contagion is found in his breath. 

His whisky, wine, cider, give o’er. 

They’re pestilence, danger, and death. 

’Twill rob you of credit and friends 
To drink of his treacherous bowl ; 

’Twill rob you of wealth, of honor, of health, 
’Twill murder you, body and soul.” 


From another appeal to some who had been tempted to 
break the pledge by some miscreant, we quote, beginning 
with the fifth verse : 

“ But tell us, who did you misguide, who was it that led you astray? 
Who first taught your footsteps to slide, and wander thus out of the 
way ? 

’Twas cruelty in full display, ’twas mischief with misery fraught. 
And terrible will be the day when he to the judgment is brought. 

But come and escape from the snare ; we give you a welcome to-day. 
You’re welcome again to our care, rnore welcome than blossoms of 
May. 

More joy ’s in the Presence Divine, o’er one who returns from astray. 
Than over the ninety and nine that never had wandered away.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


503 


But sometimes things occurred, even in liquor-selling, that 
made the most sombre worker smile. For instance, one even- 
ing, about dusk, a man rode up to Deacon Y.’s still-house with 
a sack of grain to sell, which, he said, “ might be lumped to- 
gether, as he was going fuiiher and being in haste, he did 
not stop to higgle, but, naming quite a moderate price for 
both sack and rye, received his pay in a jug of brandy and 
the rest in hard cash, and rode away. 

The deacon loved money fondly, and, though owning his 
thousands, did not despise dollars and dimes. So this good 
little bargain pleased him very well, so well that before re- 
tiring he stepped out of his way to look at his small pur- 
chase again. Yes, it was a fine bargain — splendid grain 
and a good sack, as large and well filled as any of the long 
row standing in his barn, — in fact, looked just like them. 
And then a thought struck the deacon, and he nished into 
the barn ; but from said row one was gone. 

Cheated, fooled, as sure as guns 1 ’’ he gasped. The 
abominable thief had stolen and sold him one of his own 
good sacks of rye, and with his name on it, too. 

“ And what did you do about it — what did you say to the 
chap ? ” asked his friend. 

“ Oh, nothing,” laughed the deacon. “ Confound him, I 
never said a syllable. It was too good a joke on myself.” 

A SHEEP STORY. 

Another Dram-seller Sold. 

This song below explains itself; only, it might be added, 
that the poor animal on finding itself in such disgrace, died 
the same night, as any sensible sheep might, — a total loss to 
the groceryman. 

"Twas on a hot and sultry day, a farmer wended on his way 

The flock he had beneath his care to lead unto a pasture fair. 

But as we heard the tragic tale, one of the sheep began to fail, 


504 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


And could no further go. 

So what to do he could not tell ; he did not like to leave it there, 

To die of hunger or despair, or live a life of woe. 

But while in doubt he stood, a poor man passed that way, 

And, as the tale they tell, he gave the sheep unto the man and bade 
him use it well. 

Gladly the fellow took the gift, and on his shoulder laid it, 

And to a dram-shop bore it off, and there for whisky paid it. 

‘‘ The sheep, which now a little rested, and not at all contented, 

Ban Tound and strove for to escape, and scarce could be prevented. 
Then, gazing, cried, ‘ What place is here ? What smells so hate- 
ful and so queer ? 

What makes the people swear and fight ? 

What makes them gouge ? What makes them bite ? 

What makes them reel and stagger round. 

Then senseless fall upon the ground ? 

I do believe it is a dram-shop ! 

For often have I heard it said. 

That there they sell a kind of poison 
That often kills the people dead. 

Alas ! most wretched that I be. 

This is a hapless day to me ; 

Must I, who’ve led so calm a life. 

Be doomed to see such deadly strife ; 

To hear the horrid drunkards swear. 

And poison with their oaths the air ? 

My milk-white fieece, that day by day 
Has kept me from the cold away. 

Must be exposed to every storm 
To keep the brutal drunkard warm ; 

And oft be fated too, to lay 
In mud and mire along the way ; 

Companion of the drunkard’s fall, 

And wet with whisky, worst of all. 

' Then must I be by drunkards eat, 

Soon as they want a piece of meat ? 

Oh, ’tis too much ! Oh, let me die ! ’ 

She said, and heaved a deep-drawn sigh. 

Then calmly yielded up her breath 
And closed her wretched eyes in death.” 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


505 


Though generally engaged in combating wrong and out- 
rage of one class or another, it was duty, not choice, that 
influenced her. Many a time, weary and discouraged, she 
would exclaim : 

“ I am sick of thinking of stillers, and whisky, and wars, 
and wickedness of every kind. I wish, with all my heart, 
I never need write of sin and sorrow again. When will the 
blessed millennium dawn and banish it all ? ” 

Though chiefly known by her temperance songs and let- 
ters, she wrote with equal power on many other subjects, 
viz. : “ On Duelling,” ‘‘ On Sabbath - breaking,” ‘‘ Lying,” 
Horse-racing and Betting,” ‘‘ Lotteries,” Slavery,” ‘‘ For- 
eign Missions,” ‘‘ Talents,” “ Enemies and Injuries,” “ Satan 
a Hard Master.” Also, songs : The Tangled Skein,” ‘‘ The 
Voyage of Life,” “The Sower,” “Too Late,” “Lines to 
Jenny Lind,” and several hymns, as : 

** Just simply come to Christ, they say.** 

Father of mercy, hear my prayer ! ** 

<< ’Tis Thy Spirit, Lord, indeed !** 

Behold a sinner at the door ! ** 

“ Hear my plea, ye happy few, who the ways of God pursue,** etc. 

With many others that can not be mentioned now. 

Her family affection and local attachments were very 
strong, and both , appear in “ Absent Friends,” from which 
we give a verse or two : 

My friends to a far distant land have all flown, 

And left me to seek my enjoyments alone ; 

And ofttimes I sit and their absence deplore, 

For the eyes that have seen me will see me no more. 


But I still remain by the dear mountain -side. 

Where pure breezes blow and pure streamlets glide. 

The laurel, the birch, and the evergreen-tree. 

The rocks, hills, and homestead have charms still for me ; 
22 


506 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


And the graves of my parents — all bind like a spell. 

And I never, no, never, can bid them farewell,” etc. 

Like most simple poetic natures she was fond of animals, 
and held a kind of companionship with all orders. Once, 
when writing on her usual theme, a httle mouse came out 
and gamboled around her ; and, for the nonce, forgetting the 
woes of mankind, she took two pen sketches of her guest in 
different positions, but both most life-like. An emmet creep- 
ing at her feet, received a sonnet. And one of her sick silk- 
worms evoked a long song. From this latter we can not 
forbear quoting a few lines : 

Ye ladies fair and blooming, and sprightly, young, and gay. 
Who scorn the feeble insect that spins your rich array ; 

With cold contempt you view it, and cast reproach on Him 
Who brought it into being, and made it wise to spin. 

I had the prettiest silkworm that ever saw the light. 

And every morn I fed it, and fed it every night ; 

Its eyes were black and sparkling, it looked as if it knew 
That ’twas a noble creature, and something had to do.” 

The children admired it too, and sportively would say: 

Go, go, my pretty creature, and quickly bring to view 
A ball of snowy whiteness, or else of golden hue ; 

And when thy work is ended then lay thee down and die. 

And rise again triumphant, a charming butterfly.” 

But by and by the worm fell sick, and its former friends 
forsaking it, begged her “ to move the loathsome, slimy 
thing out of the house”; and fearing the disease would 
spread among its fellows, she put it out on a mulberry-tree, 
this being the rule of the “ Silk Culturist ” for the diseased. 

She continues : 

‘‘ The chilly rain was falling, the wind was howling too, 

I thought upon my silk- worm with every blast that blew ; 

My room was dry and pleasant, and downy was my bed, 

But my poor djing silk worm had neither house nor shed. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


507 


Its little life is ended, it yielded to the call, 

Nor did what was intended — it never made its ball.” 

Then comes the moral about false friends forsaking in 
time of need, and the uncertainty of human hopes : 

“ ’Tis thus our hopes are smitten before our work is done, 

And vanity is written on all beneath the sun,” etc. 

She had her own trials, temptations, and disappointments 
to bear ; and, as we have seen, the sins and sorrows of aU 
the world oppressed her mind ; but naturally she had a 
great deal of vivacity and playfulness of disposition, and 
sometimes these asserted themselves both in writing and 
conversation. With her publishers it was diamond cut 
diamond”; for with several editors she had a standing 
friendship, and, for that matter, a standing quarrel too, be- 
cause they allowed oaths to slip into their columns, adver- 
tised stills, liquor, lotteries, horse-races, and such like evil 
things ; and last, but not least, occasionally declined her com- 
munications. One week some of them came out with a 
witty production called ‘‘ Printers’ Proverbs to Correspond- 
ents,” to which Mrs. C. cooUy responded with another aiii- 
cle, Correspondents’ Proverbs for Printers,” quite as sharp 
as their own. 

Talking with some serious friends on this subject, the 
mighty power of the press,” and how much influence the 
periodicals taken in a family had in forming the minds of 
the children or youth for good or evil, they all with one 
consent agreed that the office of an editor was one of solemn 
importance, as he stood responsible for every word and line 
he laid before his thousands of readers. And as so many 
read the secular journals who read nothing else, these, they 
thought, might do a good work by giving a religious column 
or two ; but if not, at aU events their owners should see to 


508 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


it that if they did not make society better, they did not make 
it worse by permitting any coarseness, profanity, or irrever- 
ence to soil their columns, and lower the moral tone. 

The two editors best known to the company, were often 
culpably careless on these points, they judged. So, as usual, 
a half gentle, half severe, but entirely respectful epistle was 
dispatched to the delinquents, hinting at the shortcomings 
of their papers, and enclosing several articles intended to 
improve them. 

Only one of these communications was published ; but 
instead came out a long song on Grumblers,” telling the 
trials of an editor’s career with two, three, five, or fifty 
thousand readers to please, and every mother’s son of them 
demanding that his taste should be suited, while all the dis- 
appointed ones railed on and abused the printer, or 

‘‘ Cut a caper 

By dipping a ' quill in gall ’ to scrawl against the paper.'* 

After giving a synopsis of the different classes of matter 
required by the different minds, it ends with this advice : 

** Now, brother editors, pursue 
The way that seems the best to you. 

And let the grumblers grumble." 

It was a very witty, well-selected piece, and amused every- 
body, the late censors included. This clique felt themselves 
almost singled out for punishment, and Mrs. C. flew to the 
rescue with a soothing jingle of rhymes in the same strain 
as their own, a few stanzas of which ran thus. After deny- 
ing that she had maliciously 

Scrawled against the paper," 

continues: 

“ I did not ‘ dip my pen in gall,' I did not ' cut a caper '; 

I’m not a ‘literary fool,’ I have no education ; 

I did not learn to write at ‘ school,' but just by application. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


509 


My letter was not ‘vile abuse’; ’twas meek, submissive, bumble ; 
I did not ‘rail,’ I did not ‘scold,’ I did not mean to ‘ grumble’; 


For sure, of all the foes I’ve bad to trouble or annoy me. 

An angry printer most I dread, for be might soon destroy me ; 

For if be should be pleased to fill with ridicule each column. 

Before I well could write a sheet, he’d easy print a volume. 

So, as it is our lot to read your paper some time longer, 

I would not have our friendship broke, I’d rather make it stronger; 
Because I see you’re called to fill a most important station. 

I’ll not be angry, but will send one more communication ! ” 

This same journal having inserted an urgent dun week 
after week, headed, “ Pay up,” she wrote : 

“ Come, pay up the printer, nor let him complain. 

Come, pay him up quick, or he’ll dun you again. 

And why will you have him thus wasting his breath. 

In dun upon dun, till he duns you to death ?” 


Presently she introduces him complaining of his patrons 
thus: 


“ To keep you reading, I toil night and day, and often get naught but 
my work for my pay. 

Whenever I turn some creditor runs. 

With threats and reproaches, with sneers and with duns. 


The ink-maker’s angry, the landlord’s severe. 
And says I shall move at the end of the year ; 
The paper-mill master has sued me to-day. 
The jail is awaiting to make me its prey. 


The butcher refuses to send me the meat. 

The woodman the fuel, the farmer the wheat. 


And my journeymen printers are running away 
Because I have nothing, no, nothing to pay,” etc. 


510 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


A whole page of this she sent in, and finding she had far 
ont-dunned them, they quickly transferred it to their first 
column, and forwarded it to their dilatory patrons. 

When wearied out with domestic cares and mental toil, 
change became a necessity, she would betake herself to the 
lounge with a book, or to her garden, where, while engaged in 
some light employment, or seated under the lilac-tree, these 
lighter productions were at once her relaxation and amuse- 
ment, fitting her to return to the serious duties of life with 
renewed vigor. While with her, theology and moral science 
took the first place: she delighted, too, in belles-lettres; and 
astronomy, geography, and history were favorite studies. 
Here, too, her propensity for rhyme came in play, for, find- 
ing it far easier memorized than prose, she threw many of 
the leading facts of both ancient and modern history into 
numbers, and then proceeded to deal likewise with Wood- 
bridge’s Geography, simplifying it also for the use of pri- 
mary classes. This manuscript, consisting of 500 verses, was 
highly commended by various' experienced educators, in- 
cluding Rev. G. Brown, then President of Madison College; 
Wm. W. Redick, Superintendent of Pittsburgh schools, etc. 
It was intended for publication, and probably was printed.* 

As was natural, many of her descendants inherited her 
taste for literature, and several have written considerable ; 
but excepting some fugitive pieces in albums and newspa- 
pers, nothing of theirs has been published, and many have 
not been preserved; but, judging that some of these articles 
yet extant wiU interest certain readers, we insert a few speci- 
men verses, beginning with this elegy on the Rev. John 
Morgan : 


* This work was said to have been published in a distant city and 
sold ; but from several coincidences was lost to her family. Pirst, it 
was sent out without a copyright. The author died suddenly a few 
days later. The address of the publisher was never found by her 
friends, etc. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


511 


“ Rev. Jolin Morgan, first pastor of the C. P. Church of 
Uniontown, Pa., was born (of Welsh extraction) in Virginia, 
in 1806. In person he was tall and imposing, with a high, 
massive brow, black hair, and eyes, with a countenance that 
at once awed and charmed. He was a fine speaker and a 
faithful preacher and pastor. Died in Uniontown, Fayette 
Co., Oct., 1842”; and at his own request was buried near 
the church, hard by the pulpit he ha’d filled so weU. The 
funeral day was one long to be remembered. The church 
draped in mourning, the impressive service, the solemn 
rites, a whole congregation bowed beneath a great, over- 
shadowing sorrow, in which nature itself seemed to sympa- 
thize. The fair, sunny day changed as the rites proceeded; 
and as evening wore on, the rain fell drearily, the autumn 
winds sighed and moaned, and leaden clouds shut out the 
sky, and hung like a paU over aU. Probably the feelings of 
many were feebly portrayed in the following stanzas, writ- 
ten the same day by one of his young members : 

OUR PASTOR. 

** Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth ; .... the faithful fail 
from among the children of men.” 

‘‘Ah, why tolls the bell so mournful and slow ? 

What low, plaintive notes do I hear ? 

What sighs in the breeze ? What sad accents of woe ? 

While nature herself sheds a tear. 

A mournful procession moves silent and slow. 

As the grave opens wide for its prey ; 

The watchman has fall’n, the shepherd is gone. 

Consigned to his home in the clay. 

Whose voice will now cheer this sacred abode ? 

E’en the walls seem his absence to mourn, 

Who sound the glad news of salvation abroad ? 

Since the watchman forever is gone. 

O death, thou wert cruel to snatch him away 
In the morning and strength of his day. 


512 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


And leave a sad flock without shepherd or guide. 

Oh, why not relinquish thy prey ? 

Oh, how couldst thou sunder the tenderest ties. 

And leave a fair consort to mourn. 

And orphans to weep in their desolate home. 

And bury their hopes in the tomb? 

I would visit in sorrow that silent abode. 

That hides him from friends and from foes ; 

Strew flowers o’er his head, and hallow with tears 
The dust where his members repose. 

Oh, wild winds of autumn, rave not o’er his rest, 

Ye storms, shriek afar from his tomb; 

And cease from your sorrows, dear friends of the dead. 

For Jesus has welcomed him home.” 

— Khoda L. Custead. 

TO A WILD HONEYSUCKLE. 

Written after a long absence. 

Sweet flower of the wild-wood, dear friend of my childhood ; 

Once more I behold thee, all gladsome and gay. 

Thy beauty the same, that my infant hands gathered. 

Round my own mountain home, in life’s early day. 
%•••••••• 

Thou art still blooming there, just as fragrant and fair. 

But all that then loved thee have flown ; 

And by mouldering mill, in the vale, — on the hill; 

Thou art flowering, and fading alone. Rhoda C. 

TO A WIND FLOWER. 

Wind flower, thou art ever dear to me, for in childhood’s happy day 
The woodlands all around my home, with thee were fresh and gay. 
And well I loved to ramble there, in the merry month of May. 

The birds were singing on the trees, through all the sunny day. 

The zephyr caught thy faint perfume, in the merry month of May. 

And friends I loved were with me then, who now are far away. 

And we twine thy buds no longer, in the merry month of May. 


Rhoda L. Custead. 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


613 


A FAEEWELL TO S LL. 

**Let what will cheer our onward way, farewell’s a hitter word to 
say,” 

We shall no more assemble, around this table here. 

Where God has led, and fed us, through many a changing year 
These trees our hands have planted, we can not call our own. 

This house, these fields, this garden, are never more our home. 
J'hese little paths our children traced, in many a merry play, 

No more their restless feet can tread, they must be far away. 

The foot of some rude stranger will echo o’er our ground. 

And heedless hands destroy the flowers we’ve trained with care 
around. 

We’ll bow no more together, around this hearth in prayer. 

Where Jesus oft hath blest us, and chased away our care; 

We’ll kneel no more in secret here, where none but God can see. 

To plead His mercy, and His love to sinners vile as we. 


But Jesus still can hear us pray where’er our lot is cast, 

And may He guard our wandering steps, and keep us to the last. 
April 1, 1850. Mrs. Pauline C. Kendall. 

FOR MY sister’s ALBUM. 

Now in the bloom of youth, hear thy Creator say. 

Yield now to Me thy heart, this is the accepted day ; 

Give not to earth thy love, nor to its pleasures cling. 

For they will like a serpent bite, and like an adder sting. 

Oh, yield to Me thy heart. I’ll form it fit for heaven. 

Where thou shalt finally appear, a soul redeemed, forgiven. 

Then when the judgment dawns, when Gabriel’s trump you hear ; 
And I to make my jewels up, in glory shall appear ; 

I then will call thee home, a child for whom I died. 

To dwell with all my ransomed host, forever by my side. 

May this thy blessed portion be, 

Christ and His grace, so rich and free. 

No other gift I ask for thee. 

Menallen, 1854. Mrs. Emily C. Roderick. 

22 * 


514 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


The two following are from Unpublished Poems, by 
Mrs. C.’s grandson, M. T. K. 

SUMMER TWILIGHTS. 

Hail, twilight ! sovereign of a peaceful hour, 

Sweet messenger, to weariness a dower ; 

Thy welcome presence, hears a milder beam. 

Than floods day’s revelry, with golden gleam. 

Thou art the parting smile, of dying day. 

That hovers over when her waning ray. 

In glory clad for the departing hour, fading in silence, dies on field 
and flower, 

• • • • • • • • • ••• • 

At thy approach a throbbing world grows still, a thousand echoes 
die on vale and hill, .... 

Borne on the straying breeze, the chiming bell, peals on the listening 
ear a rapturous swell. 

Tis then the many mingled hopes and fears, of other days, come 
thronging through the years ; 

And seeming echoes of forgotten song, and dear remembered voices 
silent long. 

Sweet fleeting season, ’tis reflection’s hour, and from its softened glory 
springs a power 

That renders firmer yet, the happy bond, that links us to a better 
life beyond. 

But as we musing sit, entrancing skies, in silence fade away the vis- 
ion dies; 

Night’s sable drapery and rayless gloom, enshrouds us like the still- 
ness of the tomb. 

But thou art welcome. Spirit of the night, come with thy dusky man- 
tle, veil from sight 

All earthly scenes, and constant vigils keep, o’er weary nature 
wrapped in peaceful sleep. 

Jefferson, Pa. Milton T. Kendall. 

VOICES OF THE RAIN. 

Hear the patter of the rain. 

Vernal rain ; 

As it wakens sleeping nature, with a sweet and glad refrain ; 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


515 


And the tender grass is springing, over every hill and dale, 

And the brimming brook goes singing 

Through the long and shady windings of the v^le. 

Hear the murmur of the rain, 

Joyous rain ; 

As it falls with muffled music, over mountain, mead, and plain. 
How its soft, refreshing sprinkle, calls the hidden buds to light, 
While the blossoms that o’er-sprinkle all the landscape, seem to 
twinkle, 

And be dancing in a rapture of delight. 

Hear the dashing of the rain, 

April rain ; 

As it sweeps the tender grasses, and the fields of growing grain. 
In the fading light of day, how its murmur sinks away ; 

From the shining spray that fills 
All the sky, 

What a glory crowns the hills, 

From the splendor of the rainbow ere they die. 

Hear the pouring of the rain. 

Summer rain ; 

As the leaden clouds are driving, o’er the scorching fields 
amain. 

And the drooping fiow’ret freshens, in its parched and arid bed, 
And the forest tree rejoices, and the birds with silent voices. 

For the grateful blessing, humbly bow the head. 

Hear the humming of the rain. 

Gentle rain ; 

How it lulls to peaceful slumber, by its soft subduing strain. 
While upon our couches dreaming, 

Free from every fear and care, through the misty midnight 
streaming. 

Comes the silvery rain-drop gleaming. 

And the earth is growing greener everywhere. 

Hear the lashing of the rain, 

Stormy rain ; , 

With the household awed and silent. 


516 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


As it smites the roof and pane ; 

Now the crashing of the thunder, 

111 the lurid welkin dome. 

Cleaves the trembling air asunder. 

And we hear its voice with wonder ; 

From the darkness of its far mysterious home. 

Jefferson, Pa., 1881. M. T. Kendall. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

Hear the sobbing of the rain. 

Autumn rain ; 

As it comes with dead leaves falling. 

And sighing winds refrain ; 

Beats the yellow clay that covers, 

Low home of friend or lover, 

And the heart aches while we listen, 

With a deep and boundless pain ; 

To the dirges of the rain. 

To the sobbing, and the moaning of the chill November rain. 

N(yo,y 1882. To J. W. C., by E. 

[For the Waynesburg Messenger^ 

TO THE MEMORY OF J. L. I., 

Who fell at the Battle of Fredericksburg, Dec. 13, 1862. 

Oh, hushed be all gladness, for sorrow and sadness 
Now reign in its stead. 

Hearts are breaking with aching, hearts rending with agony. 
Over the dead. 

Breathe his name sadly, speak it not gladly — 

He lies with the slain. 

Think of him lying amidst dead and dying 
Scattered over the plain. 

Brave martyr ! and can it be that to thy memory 
These lines are inscribed ? 

Has death enslaved thee ? Oh, to have saved thee 
We could have died. 

What fond hopes were thrilling, what dark fears were chilling 
Thy warm heart that day ! 

Whilst rushing to battle 'midst musketry’s rattle 
And cannon’s array. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


517 


Thine be the glory, but ours the sad story, 

Rehearsing thy fate, 

How on thou wert rushing, with life-blood out-gushing. 
And victory elate. 

An d how unreserving thy young life to yield ! 

IS’o braver, no truer e’er fell on the field. 

We ne’er shall forget thee, nor cease to regret thee, 

Ho, no, lost one, no. 

A jewel so rare, so priceless, so fair. 

Yet lying so low ! 

Fond hopes have been crushed, their utterance hushed, 
No happy to-morrow now lingers in thought — 

Our all on the altar. Let foul Treason falter 
At what she has wrought. 




Oh, dear honored dead, while the dirges are said. 
Sadly said. 

May angels be twining a wreath o’er thy brow. 

And heaven be thine, even now. 

No blot on thy name, we’ll blazon thy fame 
Yet the more. 

We’ll ponder thy virtues, and think of our loss 
O’er and o’er. 

We’ll whisper it sadly when thy story we tell. 

Peace, peace to thy ashes ! Farewell, fare thee well. 


Jefferson, Pa., Bee, 24, 1862. 


Linda Kendall. 


TO THREE BROTHERS, 

Co. A, Ya. Cavalry. 

Volunteers from friends afar, mingling in the tide of war. 

Changing calm domestic life for the camp and battle strife, 

’Mid new scenes and gay parade, let not home from memory fade. 
Oft, when twilight shadows spread, comes a mother’s mournful tread, 
Lingering in the silent gloom of your lone, deserted room. 

Kneeling by your vacant bed, tears, unmeasured tears, has shed. 
Prayers, unnumbered prayers, has said. 

Prayers that God’s almighty power shield you every day and hour 
From the snares on every side, guard you lest your footsteps slide. 


518 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Should the Sabbath-breaker say, Join us in our sports to-day 
Should the gamblers lay their plot, say, With us cast in your lot,” 
God commands : Consent ye not. 

If to tempt gay friends combine, look not on their sparkling wine. 
Fly at once the dangerous spot, touch not, taste not, handle not. 

Sin and poverty and shame, loss of health, of wealth and fame. 
Follow in its baleful train. 

And the drunkard, to his cost, finds at last his soul is lost. 


You have seen your comrades fall by the rebels’ cruel ball. 

Or at fierce disease’s call. 

And to all, to you and I, comes at last a time to die. 

Waste not, then, your morning’s prime, count not coming years of 
time. 

Ne’er may they be yours or mine. 

Now, while youth and health endure, make your peace and pardon 
sure. 

Lizzie C., 1863. 

But we must return from this digression, and hasten to 
close this imperfect sketch of the life and work of a temper- 
ance pioneer. Among her earliest papers (extant) this sen- 
timent is found, “ That it is the solemn duty of every Chris- 
tian to strive to make the world better and happier while 
passing tlirough it. Therefore let me be up and doing. 
My hand may become palsied, my reason lost, or death may 
strike. Therefore, with Grod’s help, resolved, that I will do 
what good I can, I will do it with my might I will do 
it now'’ Noble maxims ! And that they governed her life, 
none who knew her wiU deny. And while, like all good 
women, she placed heart religion and home duties first, yet, 
unlike many, she did not end there, but, with a wide, un- 
selfish charity, considered the welfare of her neighbors, of 
the community, and of the world. And while giving her 
warm and active co-operation in aU the usual church work 
and benevolent schemes of the day, her interest in her own 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


519 


special field was never allowed to flag, nor her labors for 
it to cease but with life. 

Besides much other hke work, her promise to deal indi- 
vidually with all liquor-dealers, far and near (as has been 
said), was kept literally. Not one escaped her whose ad- 
dress she was enabled to discover. Only three weeks before 
her end, hearing of one more distiller, she wrote to him in- 
stantly a letter that could scarcely have been more solemn 
had she foreseen it to be what it proved — her last warning 
to a hardened sinner ; for, though unknown and unsuspect- 
ed, her life was now rapidly drawing to a close. Even then 
a mortal disease was creeping through her veins. Yet this 
paper was written with all her usual strength ; and in all 
subsequent ones hand and brain wrought with power and 
speed, as though eye or ear had caught the signal, “ What 
thou doest, do quickly.” On Wednesday, Sept. 16, she heard 
her last sermon, and alarmed her friends by swooning away 
during the service. However, they were reassured when 
she came down to breakfast the following morning with al- 
most her usual alertness, and insisted that she felt well 
enough to drive into town on business, wishing especially 
to see some persons connected with the temperance work. 
She returned at night cheerful, but rather indisposed, and 
retired early, but, after a restless night, rose feeble and un- 
refreshed. She was feverish, too, and without appetite, 
and taking only a glass of water, returned immediately to her 
room, which she left no more till borne out in her shroud. 
But though fading bodily day by day, her mind, active to 
the last, continued to grapple with the old question, “ How 
shall this hideous system of organized, legalized crime, the 
liquor trade, be crushed out ? ” 

An appeal to his Honor, Judge G., asking his aid in the 
good work, had been well begun before her illness, and dur- 
ing its progress she once or twice left her couch and tot- 
tered to her desk, purposing, if possible, to complete and 


520 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


dispatch it. But it was too late — ^her hand had forgot its 
cunning. Only a few faint, uncertain lines were traced, 
and then, midway in a sentence, the pen dropped, never to 
be resumed. Finding no strength for writing, but still 
longing to do something more for the Master, she had some 
similar but easier work laid beside her, which she performed 
while sitting up in her bed. And thus faithful to the end, 
even her last day on earth saw her making one more effort 
in this cause of God and humauity. 

Her death was a surprise to all ; for though slightly ailing 
for a month and seriously ill for a week, yet her sickness was 
not considered at all dangerous, nor were fatal symptoms 
observed till within two hours of her end. Yery sudden it 
was to others ; yet from the eagerness with which different 
projects had been hastened to a close, and from several re- 
marks made both before and during her sickness, it would 
seem as if the event was not wholly unexpected by herself. 

The obituary prepared by a ruhng elder who had known 
her long and well, and the subjoined facts, give a brief sum- 
mary of her character and of the scenes of the closing days, 
and, also, some reasons her friends had for thinking she might 
have had some premonitions of approaching death. As, for 
instance, this : Shortly before being taken ill, returning from 
a walk through the fields, she paused, and looking pensively 
over the familiar scenery, said, “ A little longer, and I shall 
not be here.” 

Again, when the shortness of time happened to be the 
subject of conversation, she said, earnestly: 

‘‘ Do improve it well, you whose lives are before you ; 
but mine is weU-nigh ended.” 

And was it prophetic that iruthe last periodical ever read 
by her in health, she first saw the poem “ Nearer ” ? 

“For I am nearer home to-day, perhaps, than now I think, .... 

Nearer the bounds of life, where burdens are laid down,” etc. 


/ 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


521 


On Sabbath morning (the third day of her illness) she 
said, gratefully: 

“ I rested tolerably last night, and feel quite comfortable 
now, but not strong enough to ride to church ; go, the rest 
of you though, all but one.” 

After their return she seemed stronger, and, rising, 
dressed, and sat some time by the south window, listen- 
ing with her usual interest, to their report of the sermon, 
and also made some inquiries about two persons lately 
buried, asking : 

“ Had they any hope for eternity ? ” 

“ They did not profess to have any,” she was told ; ‘‘ they 
had hved worldly lives and died suddenly; though one had 
made some slight reference to the importance of religion, 
or a wish that he possessed it in his last moments.” 

Mrs. C. shook her head mouru fully. 

“ Poor men ! poor, foolish men ! ” she sighed. 

Then, presently, with a kind of reverent, solemn joy, 
added : 

“ What a comfoid it is to have been most of one’s life 
preparing for death ; I find it would be a difficult matter to 
begin now ! ” 

On Monday or Tuesday, speaking of the serious illness 
of a friend in O she said : 

“ If you hear S. is dead, do not tell me ; I could not bear 
it now”; and several times made some reference to “this 
sick and perhaps dying bed.” 

Another time, naming A. S., a dear, devoted friend, she 
said : 

“ Send for A. to-morrow, and if not better soon, I must 
send for all the children by Monday.” 

On Saturday, after writing and dispatching a note to 
U — — , she turned again to her former work of sorting her 
papers ; laying out and marking those she deemed most 
likely to do good if made public, etc. Her eyes were bright. 


522 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


her face flushed scarlet ; but, except requiring constant; 
fanning and occasional change of position, she was comfort- 
able, and generally busy (when not dozing); and so the 
calm autumnal day wore away. 

At sundown, Lydia F. coming in, remained alone with 
her a short time. This bright child of seven summers had 
already been well-instructed in religion, and the grand- 
parent now lovingly urged her to act on what she knew. 

“ Eemember, dear child,” she said, your Creator early; 
pray to Him daily. Childhood is the best time to turn to 
God, and to many it is the only time, for they do not live to 
grow up. Then come to Christ now ; He loves the little 
ones ; He has promised to receive you.” 

These, and other points, she explained in simple, earnest 
words, til], quite exhausted, she could but add : 

“ Wliether I live or die, remember my advice : do not 
neglect religion, and do not put it off. This is my best, 
and, possibly, my last counsel to my little Lydia.” 

One of the family was about entering the room, but 
stopped suddenly on the threshold ; the scene struck a chill 
to her heart. True, there was no danger in the case, — the 
old, experienced physician had assured them of that ; and 
yet the labored breath, the feeble, broken voice, the solemn 
words, were so affecting ; the whole scene looked so much 
like a last, a closing one, that, entirely overcome, she turned 
back, and stole away to weep in secret. But this she con- 
sidered but a weakness, and was confirmed in it, when, on 
returning, she found the patient not worse, but better. 

She ordered lunch with more animation and interest than 
usual, poured the tea herself, and not only listened to the 
conversation, but joined in it in her natural strong tones. 
At nine o’clock she desired that supper should be served to 
the guests, and at ten requested all to retire. Some one 
proposed sitting up, or at least occupying a lounge near her 
bed, but she declined both offers as wholly unnecessary. 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


523 


‘‘ Leave the candle burning, and the bell beside me, and 
go to your beds every one,” she said. ‘‘ I may sleep if the 
house is perfectly quiet.” 

All retired (though one remained wakeful to attend on 
her), and when all was stiU, she engaged for some time in 
earnest though whispered prayer, and seemed easy, but 
presently grew restless, very ; yet to all inquiries replied : 

“ I have no pain ; I need nothing ; if I do, I will ring ; 
lie down again.” 

They obeyed, and saw that about eleven o’clock she fell 
into an uneasy, yet heavy slumber ; for though fuU of toss- 
ing and frequent moaning, it remained unbroken for three 
hours. Then, at two o’clock, she for the first time both rung 
and called ; but even this seemed to have been done uncon- 
sciously; for she started when addressed, and answered, 
drowsily, with slow, imperfect utterance and half-closed eyes: 

“ I — did — not — caU — you ; he — down — again. I — want 
— nothing — nothing — ^but — that — all — the — woi'ld — should — 
come — come — ^to — ^the — Saviour.” 

The strange response, the unearthly look, thrilled every 
heart. 

“ She is dying ! ” cried one. 

Yes, there was a change — an awful change. The strange, 
far-ofi voice, the glazing eyes, the ashen hue, the damj), 
cold brow, all proclaimed that the hour had come. 
However, restoratives being administered, she revived, 
color returned, her eyes brightened, and her voice and 
whole appearance became natural again. Looking round 
intelligently, she inquired the “ time of night,” “ whether any 
of the neighbors had come in ? ” and made several remarks 
besides those quoted elsewhere. 

Though a moral heroine, she had always shrank from 
physical pain and danger, and had greatly dreaded the last 
enemy ; yet now that it had come, she found, like many 
another timid soul, that the bitterness of death was past ; 


524 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


and perfectly composed herself, she essayed to calm and 
comfort others. 

But this was but for a little while ; soon she began to 
sink rapidly again. Her hands became cold and still, her 
voice failed more and more, her eyes glazed and closed. 
At half -past three she slept, and spoke no more. Death 
had come, a sweet, peaceful death; and yet this was a fair, 
fair world to leave. 

The season, was at its loveliest — earth, air, and sky pass- 
ingly lovely. The orchards and gardens were laden with 
ripened fruit, and abloom with autumn flowers. The har- 
vest had been garnered, and everywhere the varied hues of 
the late-mown fields and meadows, brown, and green, and 
gold, and russet, mingled and blended together, a glorious 
picture. 

Bound the home she was leaving too, nature had spread 
all the endless charms of mountain wilds, and the softer 
beauties of sunny slopes, shady vales, sheltering trees, per- 
ennial springs, and winding streams warbling forever. And 
how lovely was all that parting hour ! The mild September 
breeze was floating dreamily around the eaves, and whis- 
pering softly in the locust boughs. The full moon, stealing 
through the open casement, watched with holy face the 
dying-bed, and from a cloudless sky the solemn stars looked 
down. 

The night was far spent; already over the eastern hills the 
day was breaking. A new Sabbath was dawning on earth, 
but not for her. It was then the summons came, and the 
freed spirit soared away to join the new song around the 
throne, and begin an eternal Sabbath above. 

OBITUAEY. 

Died, at 4 o’clock on Sabbath morning. Sept. 27, 1857, Mrs. Eliza- 
beth, wife of John Custead, Sr., in the 70th year of her age. Mrs. C. 
was received into the Tent Presb. church by Rev. Wm. Wylie, D.D., 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


525 


about 1816, and gave evidence of her sincerity by a life of service in 
God’s cause. Besides bearing her part in all ordinary church work, 
she performed much extra labor. An untiring advocate of ‘Tem- 
perance ’and the ‘Peace Cause,’ never deterred by opposition or 
ridicule, she wrote and published much on both subjects, and on 
other moral reforms also As throughout life she had mani- 

fested great concern for the spiritual welfare of others, so in death 
it was her earnest desire that aU might come to Christ and be saved. 
Shortly before her departure, on being asked if she wanted anything, 
she answered, ‘ Nothing ; nothing but that all the world should 
come to the Saviour,’ and this wish she repeated fervently several 
times. Though timid and excitable naturally, there was no distrac- 
tion, no terror in death. Again and again she said to her weeping 
family, ‘ Be calm ; rely on the Saviour, only rely on Him. I hope I 
am going to Him. I trust I am prepared ; I believe my work is 
done,’ etc. Though no ecstasy, there was peace, perfect peace. Her 
funeral was preached at Tent church, from Psalm 1. 6, ‘ Gather my 
saints together unto me.’ In many respects Mrs. C. was a remark- 
able woman. Possessing much intellectual power, with some poetic 
talent and a taste for science, art, and literature, she needed but the 
benefit of early training (which border-life denied her) to have given 
her distinction, both in prose and poetry. But her life was eminently 
useful ; and though not wearing a chaplet of literary fame, we trust 
and believe she has gained through a Redeemer’s merits that which is 
intinitely above every other — a fadeless crown and a home in glory. 

“ Hugh Campbell.” 

In presenting the following elegy, some explanation 
may be proper in reference to some of the lines; for in- 
stance, the fourth, sixteenth, etc. Mrs. C. never left her native 
place, but was born,* reared, married, lived, died, and hes 
buried on the same farm. Another thing noticeable is, that 
somehow she was the one in whom all confided ; for though 
not without some of the faults natural to her peculiar tem- 


* The youngest child of Job and Elizabeth Littell ; she was born 
in S. U. township, November 8, 1786 ; married in 1814 ; and spent 
her whole life here ; her attachment to her native State and county 
being strong and unchangeable. 


526 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


perament, she was loved, revered, and trusted to an unusual 
degree. She it was to whom old and young came with their 
plans, disappointments, joys, and griefs ; and to the best of 
her ability she counselled, consoled, and sympathized with 
all. Many bereaved ones, too, came soliciting elegies on 
their dead, and though most busy housewives would have 
considered this an imposition, her compassionate heart 
allowed her to deny none. After writing hundreds of suchj 
verses for others, she traced this one on herself, that at her 
death, twolve years later, was found among her papers, and 
placed at the head of this tribute to her memory : 

O say, gentle muse, will you come and deplore. 

And weep o’er my ashes when 1 am no more ; 

Will a requiem be chanted, a mourning badge wave. 

And yew-tree or cypress droop over my grave f 

Mrs. E. Custead, Oct, 1845. 


ELEGY. 

Mother, now a spirit free, I inscribe these lines to thee. 
Thou whose pity never slept, weeping oft with those 
who wept. 

Oft the mourners’ woes to soothe waked the elegiac 
muse 

Felt the wrongs and griefs of all, 

Shouldst thou unlamented fall ? 

Though the muse restrain her fire. 

Feeling will the lay inspire. 

Though no yew or cypress tree 
Casts its solemn shade for thee. 

Yet thy own loved mountain pine 
Over thee its boughs will twine ; 

Sweetest flowers of fairest hue 
There shall bloom and fall for you. 

And the fadeless laurel wave 
Evermore above thy grave. 


Where for thee first dawned the light, 
Breaking o’er the mountain’s height; 
Where thy native hills are seen, 

In their robes of changeless green. 
Where the ancient orchards stand 
Planted by thy father’s hand; 

Where thy happy girlhood’s day, 

With its romance, passed away; 
Where thy earliest f^hildhood played, 
There thy quiet grave is made. 

Where the Redstone’s waters gleam. 
Spruce and alder boughs between ; 
Rushing down its pebbly bed. 

Oft thy truant footsteps led. 

Filled and charmed thy listening ear 
With its song for many a year; 

Now its tones, so old, so dear. 

Fall a ceaseless requiem here. 

Mother, in thy home of rest. 

Care and sin no more molest ; 

Tears are dried for griefs of yore, 

Sad forebodings haunt no more. 

All the evils here below. 

Vice triumphant, virtue low ; 

Blighted joys and sorrows keen. 
Clouding all life’s checkered scene; 
Now have lost their power to pain. 
Ne’er shall grieve thy heart again. 

Safe from all that vexed thy breast. 
From thy labors sweetly rest. 

Where the white-robed myriads raise 
One harmonious hymn of praise; 
Where they stand iBefore the Lamb, 
Wear the crown and wave the palm; 
There thy blood-bought soul shall live 
And thy ardent spirit give 
In that blissful world above. 

Nobler service, purer love. 


528 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Till we all come home to dwell 
By thy side, farewell, farewell. 

Lizzie C., New-Year’s-day, 1856. 

In concluding this chapter on a temperance pioneer, a 
question might be answered that has already been asked, 
and may be again — i, e., ‘‘ Did all her multiplied labor for the 
temperance reform effect anything ? ’’ Yes, we reply ; in 
the judgment of her fellow-workers they did accomplish 
much good ; more, it was thought, than those of any other 
one individual in the county. Hundreds of pages,, both in 
prose and rhyme, printed at her own expense, or written 
out laboriously by hand, were scattered broadcast by her 
both here and elsewhere.* Some were articles tending to 
interest and instruct children and youth in temperance 
work ; some to rouse and encourage fellow-members to still 
greater exertions for the cause ; but more, as we have seen, 
were entreaties and warnings to makers and venders of the 
liquid fire, and to aU in any way aiding the diabolical trade. 
It is not to be believed that He whose work it was, i^ermit- 
ted one of these earnest, prayerful efforts to be in vain; yet 
on some the blessing was more apparent than on others. 
Among the most popular of the songs, perhaps, were “ The 
Dying Drunkard,” ‘‘ The Kum-drinker’s Wife,” The 
Drunkard’s Son,” “The StiUer’s Grave,” and the “Dying 
Stiller’s Confession.” Of this latter, the debut has already 
been mentioned. Composed to suit the case of one person, 
and sent to him only, in a private letter, the public reading 
of it as soon as received, to an applauding company, was it- 
self an unexpected success ; but this was but the beginning 
of its career. It was afterward transcribed again and again, 
and sent to numerous whisky sinners here, and several 
travellers also carried copies of it to their various destina- 

* Postage being high then, the pages sent out in one day cost her 
$2.50, besides all the labor of writing and copying them. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


529 


tioDs in different States, and used it against the common 
foe, sometimes with good effect. • In aU cases the song was 
enclosed in a short, pungent letter, and twice in particular, 
when this double cartridge was discharged into small liquor 
rings by brave temperance soldiers, the effect was remark- 
able; so much so that the leaders considered it the principal 
means of dispersing said rings, one for a time and the other 
permanently ; the irate rumites, not thinking it prudent to 
push their trade in such places where, as they growled, 
“ the temperance folks made such a cursed fuss.’’ 

Soon after being sent West, both “ Confession ” and “ let- 
ter ” were published in an Iowa paper, from that were cop- 
ied into a Pittsburgh journal, and thence returned to Fay- 
ette, credited to an Iowa lady. Probably the verses have 
been floating round those Western prairies ever since, for re- 
cently they appeared again, without a word changed, in an Il- 
linois paper; and, singularly enough, a copy of this particular 
number of a paper they had never heard of before, was 
wafted by chance into the family of the long-dead author, 
and the old song was re-read by them beside the same 
heaiih where it had been written first, forty years before. 
Among those who heard of the odd coincidence and were 
interested in it and the verses was the Eev. H., who, insist- 
ing that the latter should not lie idle, dispatched it to an- 
other firm, who presented it once more to the pubhc in 
• their next issue. 

As it has been published so many times in different 
places and papers for the last two score years, it has doubt- 
less been read by thousands. Yet it is again given here at 
the urgent request of some, who insist that it and all kinds 
of sound temperance literature, was seldom, if ever, needed 
more than now, when, though much has been accomplished, 
so much yet remains to be done. Distilleries and dram- 
shops, those human slaughter-pens reared and shielded by 
Satanic power, still cui'se our land. The teetotal army is 
23 


530 


KOBE AND ELZA. 


strong, and yet in some places its influence seems almost 
unfelt, and drinking habits are indulged more or less by all 
rants and sexes — good society, so called, leading the way. 
Probably there is as much tippling among crowds dressed 
in broadcloth and satin and decked with diamonds as among 
those shivering in rags — perhaps more. Wealthy, refined 
ladies lend their countenance to wine-bibbing ; legislators 
disgrace the halls of Congress by it, and even our Chief 
Magistrates permit it to dishonor the executive mansion.* 

How criminal is this — how doubly criminal in those of 
high degTee, thus to lend their powerful influence in favor 
of so dangerous a custom ; for whether the beverage be 
cheap whisky bought and drank in sinks and cellars, or 
costly wines sipped in gilded saloons and princely parlors, 
the habit, the sin, and the peril are the same. 

But probably some are weary of this dolorous subject, 
intemperance. . We all are ; yet while the foul spirit still 
rises, and will not avaunt, we can not ignore it — we must 
pursue it to the death. And the more one muses on its 
horrors, the fiercer the fire burns and blazes into righteous 
indignation against the whole iniquitous liquor scheme, and 
against the legislators who legalize and patronize it. 

It is a seK-evident truth that every government should 
protect its subjects from wrong and outrage. And can 
there be a greater outrage than this: where one party takes 
the other’s all, and gives only ruin and death in return ;f 

* With one or two noble exceptions. 

f Says a retired liquor- dealer on the "‘tricks of the trade”: “Few 
drinkers have the faintest idea of what they are drinking. For in- 
stance, more than two-thirds of the stuff sold as brandy is the mean- 
est kind of poison, being made from an oil of cognac. Gin, whisky, 
porter, beer, etc., are also very largely adulterated with various drugs 
and dyes, such as oil of vitriol, oil of almonds, oil of turpentine, sul- 
phuric ether, sulphuric acid, caustic potassa, benzine, mix vomica, 
jalap, tobacco, alum, opium, green copperas, henbane, and many 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


531 


and, worse than ghouls and jackals, live and batten on the 
want and woe, the bodies and souls of their fellows ? Why- 
can we not see the strong arm of the law bared to strike 
down this stupendous crime ? Why watch and wait ages 
for what it could give in a day ? Probably there are more 
spirits now prepared than will be needed in all time for 
medicinal and other proper uses. And what we want is a 
grand national prohibitory statute, reaching from the North 
to the South, from the Atlantic to the Pacific — a law strong 
and imchanging as the everlasting hills, that nevermore 
within this Union shall another drop of intoxicants (as a 
beverage) be made, bought, sold, or given away. 

We have seen one foul blot thus suddenly swept from 
our land ; and why not this ? Shall we, as then, compro- 
mise and debate and delay, till another bloody war, famine, 
or some other judgment of a justly angry Deity menace the 
nation’s life and scourge us to duty ? 

Heaven speed the day when our rulers shall learn right- 
eousness and our senators wisdom ; but if their aid tarries 
as it has in the past, we must nofc grow faint or discouraged, 
but importune them the more. Agitate the subject continu- 
ally. Labor on unceasingly like those who have gone be- 
fore us, with all classes, striving to soften or awe the hard- 
ened venders, to reclaim those already taken in their 
snares, and, above all, to save those still upright from their 
wiles. Fifty years’ trial of remedies having failed to cure 
the evil, warns us to look more to preventives in the future, 
to use all means to preserve the rising generation from fall- 
ing, throwing such influences and safeguards around them 
that total abstinence may grow up with them as a second 


other poisons. Such drink necessarily taints the blood ; causes nausea, 
bloat, delirium tremens ; bores into the coating of the stomach, gnaws 
the very vitals; in short, makes humanity a hopeless wreck, physi- 
cally and mentally, as well as morally .” — Safeguard for 1883. 


532 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


nature. Teachers and managers in secular schools could 
do much to interest and enlist their pupils in this cause; and 
those in Sabbath-schools still more, where line upon line 
should be given on temperance as well as on righteousness 
and judgment to come ; and a high-toned paper, with 
truthful reading, and graphic pictures on the evils of rum 
(and tobacco too), would tell in every school.* 

But after all, home training is most important, as its in- 
fluence begins first, and lasts longest. And here, parental ex- 
ample and maxims, conversation, books, companions, and all 
the nameless minutiae that make up hfe, are potent for good 
or ill on this point, as on all others. Nor should the daily 
board and its appointments be deeraed a trifling influence, 
for it is not. 

While the good housewife laudably aims to have* her food 
appetizing and attractive, a greater care is due that it be 
also simple and wholesome. Let her shun as poison all 
dishes, however fashionable, that require spirits among their 
ingredients ; and banish forever (as a beverage) her home 
brewings and domestic wines. 

These things are called harmless, but they are most dan- 
gerous to some. In many a refined, Christian home those 
highly-seasoned, thirst-provoking viands, rich, wine-flavored 
pastries, brandied fruit, and sparkling goblets of a fond 
mother’s own brewing,f have not only done lasting injury to 
her family’s health, but have often created the first fatal 
taste for stimulants that no after-care could quell. 

The children and youth are the hope of the church, the 
hope of the world ; lead them not into temptation. Sur- 
round them with all things pure and holy ; shield them 


* Happily this has now become common ; but at the time the above 
was written (several years since) a child’s temperance paper was al- 
most unknown, especially in the Sabbath-schools. 

f This pernicious custom was, and still is, fatally common. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


533 


from the slightest approach of this great destroyer as from 
a pestilence ; nor can they be taught and shielded too soon, 
for Satan seeks them early. Mere infants, aping their elders, 
have been seen smoking cigarettes and sipping toddy; and a 
late writer testifies to having counted “ four hundred boys 
and girls in one drinking-saloon in a single day.” .... 

In some respects the outlook is dark, and so it has often 
been in the past ; yet the work has always gone gradually 
on. Some time before Mrs. C.’s death, in calling to advise 

with some of the society in T , and hear how the cause 

was progressing there, she was grieved to find the leading 
spirit in quite a despairing mood. 

“A large number had received license to sell liquors 
again,” he said, ‘‘ and many professed friends of temperance 
had basely signed their petitions; many reformed drunkards 
had backslidden, and hordes of new ones were coming on 
continually, etc. In short, the struggle against alcohol 
seemed hopeless, and he for one felt like giving it up.” 

With her usual directness, his listener asked: And is 
that what you call fighting the good fight ? Is that endur- 
ing to the end ? Give up the cause, indeed ! Yield the 
field to Satan ! No — ^never ! I for one wfiU fight on till I 
die.” 

Some good people now, like the deacon, discouraged by 
the strength and number of the foe, feel almost like giving up 
the struggle ; while others are demanding new and keener 
weapons wherewith to slay this hydra that all former fights 
have but wounded ; and others still, wisely suggest that we 
depend too much on our own plans, and that while earnest, 
persevering effoii, and ceaseless vigilance, are our bounden 
duty ; yet we will never fully succeed in this warfare till we 
have more importunate prayer, and stronger faith in God. 
He can cause our rulers to aid us, for the king’s heart is in 
His hand ; legions of devils obeyed His voice of old ; shall 
not the rum demon fall before Him now ? Yea, ultimately 


534 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Dagon shall fall before tlie ark Let all our temperance 
host, then, work and trust in God; take hold of His strength, 
and in His name go forward to victory I 


CHAPTEE XLVIII. 

OLD TENT CHURCH. 

‘‘ Blessed are they that dwell in thy house, .... O Lord; .... 

this and that man was born in her The Lord shall count, 

when he writeth up the people, that this man was born there.'’ 

According to Dr. Smith, J. Yeach, and others, “in 1785 
there was not a church, chapel, or preacher of any kind in 
Pittsburgh, or any other town west of the mountain. The 
churches then,” say they, “were all in the country, afar 
from the filth and revelry of the towns. Built on some emi- 
nence beneath the spreading oaks, or in some quiet vale be- 
side a prattling riU, or grassy spring. Pit locahties whence 
to drink of the water of life, and hymn the Eedeemer’s 
praise in unison with the song of the birds, and the deep 
diapason of the forest. 

Happy days when, instead of people coming to meet in 
town edifices, begirt with noise and smoke, and made cheer- 
less by cold receptions, the villager journeyed joyously into 
the country, there to meet warm greetings, and hear the 
tidings of salvation in a pure atmosphere, uncontaminated 
by the smell of a pig-sty, and unmixed with the sound of a 
dog-fight. “ There is poetry, as well as piety, yet, in a country 
church, and a country parson.” Ah, yes, indeed, “ God 
made the country, but man made the town ” — and who 
dares to despise His glorious work, the free, glad country? 

Probably the first of these rural sanctuaries in this vicin- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


535 


ity, was tlie one that stood on the M Road, on land now 

• owned by S. Robinson, Esq., and where only a few scattered 
graves, named and nameless, now mark the spot. 

Some claim this lowly cabin chapel as the first meeting- 
place of the Presbyterian body, afterward known as the 
Tent and Union Congregations. However, this is disputed 
by others ; but whether they ever convened at this particu- 
lar place or not, it is certain that they had a regular place 
of assembly a mile or two from it where religious service 
was held at a very early day.* This was in the adjacent 
groves near the site of the present church, where a com- 
modious tent was always prepared for the minister. Hence 
the name. Tent Church. 

Dr. Powers, the first pastor settled west of the mountains, 
was its founder, as he was also of three other Payette Co. 
churches, viz. : Dunlap’s Creek, George’s Creek, and Laurel 
Hill. He was here as a missionary in 1773-4, and organ- 
ized some of these churches the first year, but others not 
till later. As has been stated, all town professors then had 
their membership in the countiy. Those of Brownsville at 
Dunlap’s Creek ; of Uniontown, at the Tent, etc. Where 
these congregations worshipped during the winter is un- 
known, unless in private houses, for there seems to have 
been no permanent church building erected here till about 
1792 or a little later. The one built then was of hewn 
logs, 35 feet square, with a gallery, and stood some 29 feet 
west of the present one.f This was replaced in 1832 by a 
brick onej 40 feet by 60, and costing $1,800. The land for 


* The early worship in these groves is described in Chapter XXV. 

f In the removing of the old structure, two men, Henry Dimond 
and Thomas Hadden (the latter a ruling elder), were instantly killed. 

t Among the men employed on the new building was one so pro- 
fane, it was said, that he was wont to say, jestingly, Boys, 111 swear 
more oaths into these walls than ever the parson can pray out.’' 


536 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


site and cemetery was donated by D. Dimond, and the 
writer is indebted to A. Stewart, Esq., for the original deed* 
that, with all the endless preamble of the law, setteth forth 
that — 

Whereas .... this Indenture witnesseth that the said Daniel 
Dimond and Christena, his wife, for, and in consideration of the sum 
of 25 cents, to them paid hy the Union Congregation of Presbyterians, 
etc., have granted, bargained, and sold .... to said congregation 
for the purpose of building a House of Worship, and likewise a 
school-house for the teaching of the children of said congregation 
and others, the following described tract of land; .... to have and 
to hold .... with its appurtenances by the said congregation and 
their heirs forever for said puiposes. 

In witness, the granting parties have hereunto set their hands and 
seals, etc., etc. Daniel Dimond, [Seal]. 

Christena Dimond, [Seal]. 

Sealed and delivered in the presence of 

[Seal of Fayette Co.] 

Recorded in the office for said county, in Book E, page 208. 

Witness my hand and seal of said office, this 31st day of January, 
Anno Domini 1800.* Alex. McLean, Recorder. 

In 1866, this second church was remodeled, and repainted, 
etc., and this remained with little change, tiU 1878 ; when 
on Sabbath, April 14th, it was destroyed by lire, only the 
blackened walls remaining. Unlike Europeans, who glory 
the more in churches centuries old, some outsiders said, 

“ It has stood forty-six years ; that is long enough. It can 
not be a great loss.” But to the Tent Congregation, half 
decimated as it had been by deaths and removals, it was 
a serious loss ; and a heavy trial in more senses than one. 
Yes, to those who had worshipped there from infancy, and 
whose fathers, and fathers’ fathers, had worshipped there be- 

* Some of these old figures seem to read 1800 ; some 1805. Which 
is the proper rendering ? 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


537 


fore them, this old sanctuary was precious ; hallowed and 
endeared as it was by a thousand sacred associations, and 
tender, touching memories, that no stranger could feel or 
understand. 

But as no one could be blamed for the trouble, and griev- 
ing over it could not profit ; little time was spent in worry 
or weeping. Shall our sanctuary lie desolate? was the 
question for the rulers and counsellors,* and they said, 
“ Nay, let whosoever is of a willing mind bring an offer- 
ing ; go to, and we will revive it out of its dust.” And all 
the people answered, “It is well said, — we will revive it 
again, — we wiU arise and build.” And having a mind to 
the work, build they did, and in such earnest, and so 
favored by Providence that all was finished by mid-summer, 
and a fortnight or so later it was rededicated. 

This first joyful service was held August 4th, just three 
months and twenty days after the fire. 

A great crowd assembled on this occasion, filling the 
house to overflowing — present from different motives, — some 
to rejoice with the society, and offer their gifts, or congi'at- 
ulations ; and others to look with curiosity on the fair 
phenix, arisen so suddenly from its ashes. 

Generations, one after another, have come and gone 
since the Gospel trumpet first pealed through this prime- 
val forest, and this virgin soil was first set apart ; conse- 
crate forever to the worship of the Triune God, hallowed 
by tlie prayers of the living, and the sepulchres of the dead. 
May it remain ever so. Here, through aU time, may dead 
souls find life ; and here, weary bodies sink to peaceful 
graves. Here, in every age, may worshippers meet to praise 
and pray ; and faithful heralds preach the truth as it is in 


* Among the most zealous were the elders and trustees, J. Smith, 
Alex. Dyarman, Col. James Robinson, and others, who began to plan 
its rebuilding in two hours after its destruction. 

23 * 


638 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Jesus, and take the cup, and break the bread in His name, 
till He come. 

The Tent founded by Dr. Powers, and seiwed occasion- 
ally by him, Dunlap, D.D., Jennings, D.D., and others, has 
had during the century and more, i. e., 108 years of its ex- 
istence, regular preaching almost continuously, and gener- 
ally by its own settled pastors. Never given to change, 
this church has called but eight pastors since its organization, 
and has had but twenty-seven ruhng elders : viz., pastors — 
David Smith, J. Adams, Wm. Wylie, D.D., A. J. Fairchild, 
D.D., J. C. Hench, D. B. Eogers, S. S. Bergen, M. C. Bailey. 
Elders — James Orr, Jno. BeU, Jos. Hadden, Jno. Core, S. 
Salsbury, Benj. Lawhead, Wm. Nixon, Abr. Stewart, Alex. 
Dyarman, Thomas Hadden, Elial Freeman, Ken. Duncan, 
Ben. J. Blackford, Hugh McClellan, John Smith, F. H. 
Oliphant, John Richards, Josiah Yankirk, T. F. Towl, S. 
Duncan, H. Humfries, Wm. Pastories, Sami Robinson, J. 
W. Burchmal, J. Thomas, C. Smith, S. P. Custead. Of the 
seven pastors installed here, from 1780 to 1880, only ono 
remained on, serving tiU death, viz.. Dr. F , of whom a slight 
sketch seems but proper : — 

Ashbel . Green Fairchild, the sixth and youngest child 
of Lent W. and Jemima Fairchild,* was born at Hanover, 
N. J., May 1st, 1795. Being left fatherless in his eighth 
year, his training devolved on his mother, f who, like Han- 
nah, early dedicated him to the Lord, and to His special 
service. And so strong was her hope and faith, that her 

* Pages from her diary, and letters to Ashbel, and other papers, 
all breathing the spirit of piety, are still extant in her own handwrit- 
ing, and were once shown to the writer by Mrs. J. P. C. of P. 

f From all that is known of Mrs. F., she appears to have been a 
devoted Christian, who daily walked with God, and constantly taught 
her children that religion was the first, — the great concern, and her 
faithfulness was rewarded by seeing them all hopefully converted 
early. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


539 


offering was accepted, and tliat God would graciously lead 
her son not only to receive the truth himself, but also 
preach it to others ; that (in spite of many difficulties) all 
his education throughout was conducted with this high and 
holy aim in view. At the age of thirteen he began his 
classical studies at Morristown, N. J. In 1812, entered the 
senior class in Princeton College, and in 1813 received the 
degree of A.B. In 1814 he made a public profession of 
rehgion in the Presbyterian Church of Hanover, and the 
same year, entered the Theological Seminary at Princeton. 
In April, 1816, he was hcensed to preach, and in Septem- 
ber, went on a six months’ missionary tour in N. C. In 1817 
he went two months on a mission field in a part of N. J., 
and six months more on a mission tour on the Mononga- 
hela Eiver, and the upper branches of the Allegheny. 

He was appointed stated supply to George’s Creek 
Church, April 21st, 1818, for half his time, and in July was 
ordained an evangelist. 

On the 12th of May, 1820, he was happily married to 
Miss Eliza McDougall, of Newark, N. J., and two years later 
was instaled pastor of three churches, George’s Creek, 
Morgantown, and Greensboro. In 1827 he resigned the 
latter two charges to become pastor of the Tent, to which 
he gave half his time, till 1854, when he resigned George’s 
Creek also, that he might devote his whole time to the 
Tent, and Fairchance, then considered one with Tent,* of 
which he remained the greatly attached pastor till the re- 
lation was dissolved by death. 

Besides being a frequent, if not a constant, contributor 
to the religious periodicals of the day. Dr. F. was the author 
of several well-known works, viz., “ Life of L. A. Lowiy, 
missionary to India,” “ What Presbyterians Believe,” “ Scrip- 


* Tent and Fairchance were considered onei church, with two 
church buildings. 


540 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ture Baptism,” “Unpopular Doctrines,” and the “Great 
Supper.” The latter especially has long been a standard 
doctrinal work ; and it, if not others, was reprinted in the 
Old World.* 

Dr. Fairchild was a faithful, laborious minister for forty- 
eight years, thirty-seven of which were spent as pastor of 
the Tent ; where, as long as health permitted, he visited 
his scattered flock regularly, held catechetical and Bible- 
classes, and frequently preached during the week at private 
houses. His last sermon was preached on the evening of 
May 22d in the Baptist church at Smithfield, from “ This is 
my beloved, and this is my Friend,” and it was during this 
second service of the day that he was taken with his death 
sickness. This discourse, so full of Christ, was well-nigh his 
last testimony for Him, for though he lingered some five 
weeks after being taken ill, the disease inducing great languor 
and drowsiness, he spake but little — nor were dying words 
necessary. 

Once, though, when a friend was reading to him the 23d 
psalm, “ The Lord is my shepherd,” etc., he added, fervently, 
“ He is my shepherd, — mine.” 

To another, who was hoping to see him better, he replied, 
“ Yes, if the Lord has any more work for me to do, — He 
will raise me up again.” 

But though fully resigned to God’s will whether for life 
or death, yet ifc was the latter that he expected ; and so far 
as his weakness would allow, he set his house in order ; and 
like the patriarch, gave directions concerning his burial. 
As was characteristic of the man, he desired that his funeral 
should be conducted quietly, without unnecessary expense 


* Loyal and patriotic ; ever the ardent friend of his country, the 
dire necessity of a terrible internecine war, where brother slew 
brother, and blood •flowed like water ; preyed on his mind and body, 
and as some thought shortened his days. 


ROSE AND EI^A, 


541 


or delay, and with no pride or parade whatever.* From 
a rather exhaustive report, prepared by the writer at the 
time, (for an absent friend,) the following condensed account 
is taken : — 

July, 1864 : Dear Emily : . . . . Your former friend 
and pastor. Dr. F., died at his home near Smithfield, 
on Thursday at midnight, June the 30th, 1864, and his 
funeral followed on Satiu’day, July 2d, at ten o’clock. At 
an early hour the parsonage and grounds were filled with a 
great, silent, solemn assembly’, gathered from far and near, 
to pay the last honors to the dead, and to look, many of 
them through blinding tears, their last adieu. 

Laid in his study, surrounded by his books and papers, 
and dressed as in life ; face and form looked perfectly 
familiar, and the countenance beautifully calm and fair, as 
though touched with heaven’s own peace 

The farewells over, and the coffin closed, four of his rul- 
ing elders f as pall-bearers drew near and bore him forth ; 
the attending clergymen preceded the hearse, the rela- 
tives came next, and a large part of his three former 
charges, with the citizens generally, moved slowly after a 
gTeat procession. 

Its destination, George’s Creek Church, reached, — Dr. 
Wilson read the 23d Psa., a favorite of the deceased ; Kev. 
J. Purington (Baptist) prayed, and H. O. Boseborough 
preached from, ‘‘Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, 
and afterward receive me to glory.”J After this able and 

* It was said lest the affection of friends should lead them, in this 
matter, beyond the bounds of what he considered Christian simplicity, 
he specially requested that all expenses for both coffin and stone 
should he kept at as low a figure as propriety would permit. Head- 
stone not to exceed $25, and other things to correspond with it. 

f These were Alex. Dyarman, F. H. Oliphant, J. Smith, and 
H. Humfries. 

X Hymns used were 512-513 : Why should our tears,’' etc., and 
526, ‘‘ Why lament the Christian dying.” 


542 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


touching discourse, Eev. Samuel Wilson, D.D., of Dunlap’s 
Creek Church, the early friend of the dead, arose to close the 
service, with an address of which the below is a slight epitome. 
Dr. W. began : “ I fully indorse all that my brother has said ; 
*and in adding a few remarks, my motive is not to inflate 
pride or vanity in survivors, or merely to laud and admire 
him who has gone from earth. I speak not of his form, 
though tall and portly, and beautiful to a proverb. Nor of 
his mind, though it was clear, acute, and grasping ; nor of 
his scholarship, though equalled by few. Nor of the grace 
of his manner, nor the charm of his conversation. Nor yet 
of the great grace that filled his heart and life, making him 
a wise counsellor, a faithful minister, a man greatly beloved 
in life and in death. Great, — pre-eminently great, he was in 
all, yet I praise not him, but God ; who so richly en- 
dowed him with the choicest gifts of nature and grace, and 
lent him to us so long ; set him a fair luminary in our 
midst, a bright and shining light before our eyes ; while 
almost half a century has rolled round. Yes, my friends, 
no one capable of apj^reciating noble talents, profound 
* learning, elevated piety, and distinguished usefulness, can 
doubt that ^this day a prince and a great man has fallen in 
Israel.’ I may sum up his character as brother E. has done. 
‘ He was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of 
faith.’ Yet let none imagine that we claim j^erfection even 
for him ; or that aught he had was his own. Nay, and 
could his ransomed soul look down from its heaven of rest, 
and speak to us to-day, how emphatically would it deny, and 
rebuke such a thought ; for -none beheved more fully and 
unreservedly in the inability and nothingness of man ; and 
in the aU-sufficiency of Christ than he ; or for every gift, 
spiritual and temporal, gave more unfeignedly to God the 
glory. May each one of us follow him, as he followed the 
Master > like him, wear out our lives in His service, be 
faithful unto death, and at last receive the crown. But I 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


543 


must close. Other duties await us. We are called to yield 
back the gift to the Giver ; to put our friend and our ac- 
quaintance into darkness, and bury our dead out of our 
sight. Let us pass to the waiting grave.” 

This was made west of the church, beneath the shelter- 
ing boughs of a wide-spreading tree, a beautiful rock-ma- 
ple ; and the long procession moved thither in the same 
order as before. They laid him to his rest with kindred 
dust. It was finished. The last sod cast ; the last touches 
given to the smooth, high-heaped mound ; and then, as the 
sexton paused, and stood still, a solemn strain of music 
stole on the ear ; as the choir, grouped at the sleeper’s feet, 
sang in tones clear, and tender, and soft, and low, this 
solemn requiem : 

“ Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee, 

For God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy guide,” etc. 


As the last lingering notes died away on the summer air, 
heads were bared and bowed, and with hands upraised 
above the new-made grave, the impressive voice of Doctor 
Wilson was heard again : 

"‘Having committed this body to the dust in hope of 
a glorious immortality at the resurrection of the just, we 
commend ourselves to God.” 

Then followed the apostolic benediction : “ Now the God 
of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, 
that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the 
everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work 
to do His will, working in you that which is well pleasing in 
His sight, through Jesus Christ. To whom be glory for- 
ever and ever. Amen.” 

It was over ; and all turned away, many of his charge 
weeping sore, and sorrowing most that they should see his 
face no more ; and even the most careless were ready to 


54d 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


testify, “ He has ever declared the whole counsel of God, 
warned us night and day with tears,” and 

Preached as a dying man, — to dying men.’' 

Whether we hear or forbear, there has been a prophet 
among us ; and if we perish, on our own heads be our 
blood. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

‘‘ Variety ’s the spice of life.” 

Though this little volume is in no sense a history, yet as 
most of the places and events mentioned in it belong to 
what is now Fayette, and many of its characters lived and 
died within its bounds, it may be proper before closing to 
say something of the count}'- itself, and to notice some of the 
things that have made it classic and historic ground.* 
Fayette County was organized, 1783, at the close of the 
Revolution, and named in honor of that noble friend of 
America, De Lafayette. It has an area of 824 square miles, 
being thirty miles long and twenty-seven wide. It is 
bounded north by Westmoreland County; east, by Somerset 
County; west, by Greene and Washington ; south, byMary- 


* There is a great chann in fireside tales and legendary lore in gen- 
eral. But to test their truth and secure accuracy, man}^ solid vol- 
umes have been consulted, as “ History of Pennsylvania,” “ Life of 
Washington,” several different histories of the United States, Dod- 
dridge’s Notes,” “ Old Redstone,” “ Western Pennsylvania,” “French 
and Indian Wars,” late Cyclopaedias, “The Monongahela of Old,” 
and many others. Passages quoted from these will invariably be en- 
closed in quotation marks ; but, to save trouble, page, chapter, and 
even title, will often be omitted. 


545 


ROSE AND ELZA. 

land and Virginia, separated from them by the famous 
Mason and Dixon line. The surface of Fayette is finely diver- 
sified, and strongly marked by four rivers * and two rug- 
ged mountain ranges, 2,500 and (in places) 8,000 feet above 
the level of the sea, besides several detached* ridges which 
rise between them. “Laurel Hill bounds it on the east, 
dividing it from Somerset ; and Chestnut Ridge, the most 
western branch of the Allegheny chain, extends across the 
middle in a southwesterly direction. It is a land of streams 
and fountains. The Monongahela River, rising in W. Va., 
flows along its entire western border. The Yough- 
ioghany, flowing through Maryland, enters 'Penn, east of 
Laurel Hill, and, breaking through both the great mountain 

' * Origin of Names. — On these, tradition offers the following as 
facts, which they may probably be. Long ago a hunter and trapper, 
having strolled away from the camp, was kneeling on the banks of 
an unknown stream to drink, when a guttural voice broke the silence. 
“ Yough ! it said, “ Youghio ! ” Springing to his feet, he seized 
his rifle, and, spying an Indian on the opposite bank, fired, exclaim- 
ing tauntingly as he fell dead, “Now, redskin, yough ! again, will 
you ? — youghio again.’’ And so the hunters called it the “ Yough,” 
or the “ Yough-again ” River, and others followed their example. 

Cheat. — In early times, it is said, an emigrant, wishing to locate 
beyond the Monongahela, reached it (as he supposed), and with some 
difiSculty crossed it, but soon was stopped by another stream. See- 
ing a cabin near, he hailed the owner with, 

“ What river is this ? ” 

Settler : “ The Mongehale.” 

Emigrant : “ Oh, no, I crossed that a piece back.” 

“ No, you didn’t,” returned the other, laughing, “ for this is it, and 
by the trail you come, you could not see it till now.” 

“ Why,” said the stranger, “what did I cross, then ? If I didn’t 
see the Monongehela and cross it too, I’m cheated finely. That other 
pesky branch is a cheat.’' 

Both men told the joke, and, being repe^lted again and again, this 
beautiful stream became Cheat River. 

Monongahela and Allegheny. — These are Indian names, the lat- 
ter (perhaps both) signifying in the Seneca tongue, “ Fair Water.” 


546 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ranges, and tumbling over various rocky ledges, forms wild 
and picturesque scenery at Obiopile Falls and other points. 
It flows N.W. through Fayette, and unites with the Monon- 
gahela in Allegheny Co. The Cheat rises in Randolph Co., 
Va., and, flowing through the southwestern section of Fay- 
ette, enters the Monongahela at Point Marian, whence they 
flow on hke the Gulf Stream — united, yet divided ; for the 
fair, stainless Cheat, with the dignity befitting the Old Do- 
minion, mingles not with its neighbor, but, holding its crys- 
tal waves aloof, glides gracefully down on one side, while 
the turbid Monongahela rolls silently down the other. 

There are also many important creeks, as George’s, In- 
dian, Brown’s, Cook’s, Dunlap’s, Redstone, Big and Little 
Sandusky, Mount’s, Jacob’s, etc.; besides various runs, as 
Jennings’, York’s, Brown’s, Middle, Hall’s, Oswalt’s, Gabriel’s, 
with many others, named and nameless, and springs cold 
and pure, and priceless, without number. 

‘‘ The soil in the N.W. is highly productive and weU 
cultivated. Other parts are more adapted to pasturage. 
Limestone and building stone and sand abound; also much 
of the best quality of that peculiar kind of flinty sand re- 
quired in glass-making is found and used in the county, and 
exported elsewhere. The mountains contain vast strata of 
fire-stone and fire-clay, large quantities of which are used 
at home, and also shipped abroad. Lead of fine quahty also 
exists there, as it is well known the Indians had one or more 
mines among the hills ; but so strictly did they guard their 
secret from the whites, that though two or three bold pio- 
neers made many efforts, at the risk of their lives, to track 
them to their treasure, the principal vein was not found 
then, nor since. But the specialty of Fayette is her beds of 
bituminous coal and iron ore, which seem well-nigh inex- 
haustible,* making the land containing them very valuable. 


* But public health and comfort peremptorily demand that some 
decided means be used to consume the smoke and soot, which are 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


547 


Some farmers, retaining the surface of their soil for cultiva- 
tion, dispose of the mineral beneath, realizing for it alone 
from $100 to $125 or $140, according to quality. Others, 
disposing of both, receive $200 or more per acre. For some 
uses, this coal is superior to all other, so that Fayette, or 
(as termed) ‘ Connellsville coke ’ is famed throughout the 
Union.” 

The number of furnaces, forges, foundries, nail factories, 
coke-works, and other branches connected with them, within 
our borders, with the number of employes, amount of capi- 
tal invested, proceeds, etc., is immense, but the exact figures 
can not be given here. 

While the climate, like that of the State (and of many 
other States too), is variable, and subject to sudden changes, 
Fayette has one feature pecuhar (in force, at least) to her- 
self, and that is the Mountain Storm.” This windy tem- 
pest, haunting the most western peaks of Chestnut Kidge 
sweeps only a narrow belt of land at its base, perhaps twelve 
or fifteen miles long, and from one or two, to six miles wide. 
Its approach can usually be foretold with almost complete 
certainty, being heralded generally, by one or two unerring 
signs.* * A stretch of cloud, leaden-hued, or black or gray, 
seen hovering long on the eastern horizon, hanging persist- 

becoming a nuisance, which, according to good authority, will not 
(without effort) be soon abated. Says a late writer : “ Our iron ore is 
welbnigh inexhaustible ; and oflScial estimates state that there are 
still more than four thousand million tons of coal in Fayette County.’' 
Four thousand million ! Enough to foul the air for ages to come, 
and grow worse continually. 

* An old dame, so patriotic, and fond of all things bold and strong, 
that she felt a kind of pride even in the Mountain storm, and “ scent- 
ed the battle from afar,” used to exclaim : “ See, boys ! Old Chest- 
nut has donned his war cap. He’s brewing his breakers now. Hear 
his pines moaning. He’ll charge on us soon Vith all his guns. ” In 
her excitement, the good old auntie mixed her metaphors badly, we 
see. 


548 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ently over the mountain tops, is one harbinger. Or the in- 
itiated mark a warning note among the pines — a murmur, 
soft at first, and low, but increasing gradually more and 
more in volume, till it swells into a solemn roar, as loud and 
continuous as the sound of the ocean, which it closely re- 
sembles. 

Sometimes. all this goes on in the heights above for a day or 
a night, while in the plains all is clear and calm. But more fre- 
quently in a few hours scouts begin to arrive — small, quick 
puffs that dash down the hills and back again in a twinkling. 
After a space another comes and goes, and then another, 
gradually appearing at shorter intervals, and a trifle strong- 
er. Little audacious gusts begin to flap the curtains and 
flare the lamps, or fling-to the shutters with a saucy bang. 
But by and by an ominous sound, louder and nearer, beto- 
kens that the whole aerial camp is breaking up, and the 
main body moving ; and down it comes with howl, and 
shriek, and roar, bellowing like all the bulls of Bashan. 

When the storm is of a severe type, the smoke whirls 
down the chimney, houses shake, and corn-shocks and rail 
fences strew the ground. If very severe, great gates are 
driven from their moorings, barn-doors go down, and occa- 
sionally an unfinished building careens, or a roof takes 
wings. In very exposed positions, an iron' bar and staples 
are sometimes deemed necessary to seciu'e an eastern door; 
and if the wind is accompanied by rain or snow, it forces 
them through the smallest crevice, leaving many a seeming- 
ly snug attic more or less wet, or ankle-deep in snow. 

Though always loud and boisterous, some of these storms 
do little injury or none, and some years they scarcely ap- 
pear at aU. ^ But usually one or more may be expected an- 
nually, some time between November and March. 

Though to a careless observer nothing seems more wild 
and outlawed than the mountain storm, yet those who have 
studied it most, aver that it has its own fixed laws, and keeps 
them, too, as well as most other habitants of our county. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


549 


They say it only comes when expected, after giving faith- 
ful warning. It remains a certain period, which is either 
twelve, twenty-four, or forty-eight hours, or, at rare inter- 
vals, seventy-two hours. 

It ceases at the same hour of the day or night that it 
began, and it retires as it came, slowly and by degrees — 
only the order is reversed : the great blasts go first, and the 
little gusts follow last. Certain periods have been men- 
tioned as its duration ; but of course it does not blow a 
gale during all that time, but comes and goes, and varies 
continually. Now it is moderate, then high, then low ; now 
here, now there ; now returning with the roar of a tidal 
wave, anon receding and dying away to a whisper. But 
even at the worst, it is never so severe as to prevent men 
from going out to attend to their stock, and partial lulls 
often occur, lasting an hour or two, which make it quite tol- 
erable for the milkmaid’s duties. And then there are always 
calms between the blasts — ^little oases of quiet where the 
vexed ear can rest, lasting for a few seconds or for several 
minutes at a time. But with all its warnings, and calms, and 
lulls, this high-toned visitor is an unwelcome and dreaded 
guest ; though it is surely but a trifling evil compared with 
the cyclones, water-spouts, tornadoes, etc., that visit other 
States. Fayette Countians may well endure the mountain 
storm for the mountain’s sake ;* for the blasts it brews, 
though fierce and rude, are brief, while the pleasure it 
yields has no end or bound. If not reaching sublimity, it 
is lofty enough for majesty and beauty ; and beautiful and 
majestic it is at all times and seasons, whether robed in the 
greenness of summer, the grandeur of autumn, or the snows 
of winter — whether flushed with the rising sun, or bathed 


* During a drought, the mountain is often veiled in clouds, and 
soft showers cheer the dwellers near its foot, that those of other local- 
ities never share. 


550 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


in its setting glory ; at morn, at noon, at eve, by sunlight, 
moonlight, starlight, forever solemn, grand, majestic, always 
beautiful as a poet’s dream. For nothing less than the 
moaning main, the deep, deep sea, would we give our 

goodly battlement of eastern hills.” No, scarcely for the 
bold Atlantic, would we change our priceless heritage, our 
grand old Alleghenies. 

But to return to our former topic, the storm. Long ago 
the masters used to explain this phenomenon by prosing 
about currents of warm air and cold air, vacuums, and what 
not. But none need puzzle his brains with that further, for 
here is another explanation easier to understand than that, 
and far more romantic, if not more authentic. We are in- 
debted to S. T. W., an adept in Indian lore, for this ver- 
sion, which, at the risk of spoiling, we condense thus : 

“Ages agone, when the red man ruled this land alone, a 
Shawnee chief was pursuing the chase over these hiUs, at- 
tended by one of his braves called Black Eagle. The latter, 
being a mighty warrior himself, disdained a secondary posi- 
tion, and, moved with envy and ambition, resolved to mur- 
der his master and assume his honors himself. Watching 
his opportunity as they ran together along a rocky ledge 
this day, he pushed him headlong from the precipice, and, 
when the rest arrived, assured them that the chief had fallen 
by accident. But they gave no credence to the story, and, 
so far from accepting him as head of the tribe, boldly 
charged him with the murder. 

“ Descending, they bore the bleeding body upward, and 
laid it on the rock before him ; and there, in the very pres- 
ence of the dead. Black Eagle denied the crime. Standing 
on the verge of the ledge from whence he had hurled his 
master, he raised his hand toward heaven and called the 
Great Spirit to witness his innocence, or, if guilty, to shut 
his soul out from the Happy Hunting Ground and turn it 
into the wind. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


551 


“The sun was setting. Clouds were gathering round. 
The wind was moaning through the pines, and, as the false 
oath left his lips, it rose to a gale, and swept the perjured* 
murderer from the cliff, and, with a terrible shriek of de- 
spair, he fell to the depths below. As his haughty spirit 
left the body, it entered the wind, which instantly rose to tem- 
pest height — such wind as warrior never felt before. It swept 
out from these hills six miles over Black Eagle’s own hunting 
ground, but no further. And thenceforth he was the Storm 
Chief, and this wind was known as the ‘ Mountain Storm.’ 
And ever after, whenever it rose and raged, the tribes knew 
that the ghost of Black Eagle was abroad, and, minghng in 
all its ravings, they heard his dying cry. 

“Of the original owners of this country we know but 
little ; but when white agents and traders first penetrated 
the wilds of Fayette, both it and the adjacent counties were 
the hunting ground of the Six Nations* (sometimes called 
Mingo or Iroquois), and of their aUies', the Shawnees and the 
Delaware Indians 

“ But that these wandering tribes had been preceded by a 
different and more civilized race seems probable, from the 
remains of fortifications which are very distinct from any 
built by the tribes named, or by any of their modern com- 
peers. These old foils are numerous in Fayette County ; 
and that they (and others of the same class) are very ancient 
is shown by many facts The Indians themselves dis- 

owned them, and could give no satisfactory account of 
when, by whom, or for what purpose they had been erected. 
.... The surrounding forests are chiefly oak, but the trees 
within these forts are of large black- walnut, wild cherry, 
etc. Some of these trees growing around and over these 
mounds, indicate an age of from 300 to 500 years, and these 


e., Senecas, Mohawks, Oneidas, Onondagas, Cayugas, andTusca- 

roras. 


552 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


are evidently of the second or third generation, as they are 
standing amid the decaying remains of others of the same 
kind,” seeming to indicate that 1,000 or 1,500 years may 
have passed since these mounds and forts were reared. 
. . . . No stone were used in their construction ; . . . . 
and among them is always found some old pottery made of 
clay and crushed muscle-shell ; generally bowls holding 
from one to three quarts. 

“These forts were of various forms: square, oblong, tri- 
angular, circular, semicircular, and their superficial areas 
range from one-fourth of an acre to ten acres. These sites 
were generally well chosen for defence and observation, and, 
in this county, usually crown the highest and richest hills. A 
very noted one was at Brownsville, containing (some say) 
ten acres of land, and known to thousands as ‘ Redstone Old 
Fort.’ Another noted one is on the banks of the Yough, 
near Broad Ford. Two or three were on the State road, 
south of Perryox^olis. 'There are several on the high ridge 
between the river and Plumpsock, w^here very large human 
bones have been found. One, containing six or eight acres, 
overgrown with black-walnut, is on the summit of Laurel 
Hill, where the mud-pike crosses it. There are two near 
Geneva ; one two miles northeast of it, the other at Flint 
Hill. There were several near Middle Run, and one on 
Gen. Beeson's land, two miles east of Uniontown. One a 
mile or so west of Fairchance, where many relics have been 
found. 

“ At or near this place, a farmer some years since, in ditch- 
ing, came on a solid stone fioor of some extent, and several 
roads, some of them macadamized, leading to it. Further on 
were the ruins of a large village, with specimens of well-fin- 
ished pottery, and other kitchen utensils. The well-made, 
much-travelled roads, and other things here, indicated that 
this prehistoric race had been a numerous and civilized peo- 
ple 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


553 


“ Fayette County being rather a hunting ground for the 
New York and Delaware Indians than a dwelling place, it 
contained but few towns. But there was one in German 
township, one near Plumpsock, and one four miles from 

Uniontown, near Abr. Brown’s Indian graves, twenty 

or thirty together, heaped over with stone, were once nu- 
merous here, some of the bones indicating men from six 
and a half to seven feet taU. Mingled with the bones were 
arrow-heads, spear-points, and hatchets of flint and stone, 
nicely formed and finished. In an extensive cemetery near 
the Yough, J. Cottom found under a stone a curious antique 
chain, consisting of a central ring with five chains two feet 
long, branching off from it, each ending in a kind of clamp, 
large enough to enclose a man’s neck. 

They had evidently gone through fire, and most proba- 
bly had been used to fasten captives to the stake. There 
are (or were) many more of these strange earthworks within 
our bounds ; but omitting them, we will only add on this 
subject, that having examined a great number of these 
ancient remains, not only in Fayette County, but at Maritta 
and Newark, O., at Grave’s Creek, Virginia, and elsewhere, 
we feel assured that they are all the. work of a race far su- 
peiior, and long anterior to the Indians.” 

But who? Some have advanced the theory that these 
mysterious builders might have been the posterity of that 
lost nation, the ten tribes of Israel; offering as proof, that in 
some of the oldest temple mounds, stones had been found 
engraved with disjointed Scripture texts in some Eastern 
language closely resembling the Hebrew. One large hewed 
stone, it was said, bore seven or eight of the ten command- 
ments, half engraved on one side, and half on the other ; 
and these had here and there a word changed or omitted, as 
though lost or forgotten during the lapse of ages. .... 
But this idea of their origin, like many others, is only 
conjecture. Whether these wise builders were the sons of 
24 


554 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Shem, Ham, or Japhetli, whether Christian or pagan, or who 
they were, whence they came, or whither they went, is all 
uncertain, and perhaps “ will forever be unknown.’' 

But to return to the Indian, of whom, unlike the race last 
mentioned, we have some certain things to write. “ These 
untutored children of the forest were considerable astrono- 
mers and geographers and excellent engineers. They had 
their regular hunting trails and war-paths hundreds of 
miles long, and as distinctly marked as our State and county 
roads, and often better located. 

“ The most prominent, and perhaps the most ancient of 
these Indian paths across Fayette, was the Catawba, or 
Cherokee Trail, leading from the Carolinas, Georgia, Flor- 
ida, etc., through Virginia and Pennsylvania, to New York 
and Canada.. After uniting and intersecting many other 
roads, it crosses the Warrior Branch that leads from Ten- 
nessee and Kentucky, and enters Fayette at Grassy Bun. 
And while the Warrior Branch passes by Wm. Gans’, James 
E/obinson, Sr., etc., and intersects the Redstone Old Fort 
trail at Grace Church ; the Catawba keeps on its own course 
through C. Griffin’s farm, by Long’s Mill, Ashcraft’s Fort, 
Alfred Stewart’s, Tent^ church, and Diamond’s Spring” 
(now J. James’). From this spring, where generations of 
red men have camped, rested, roasted their venison, and 
slaked their thirst, the Trail kept nearly in the route of the 
present Morgantown Road, past J. Thomas’, R. Allen’s, C. 
Smith’s, to J. Laughead’s, ‘ where it turned across Hellen’s 
farm, passed close by Rev. Win. Brownfield’s, thence through 
XJniontown over the Old Bank House lot, crossing the creek 
back of the jail, it passes north of the public graveyard, — 
on past Mount Braddock, crossed the Yough, where Gen- 
eral Braddock’s army forded it, from thence up the Alle- 
gheny to the heads of the Susquehanna, into Western New 
York, then the empire of the Iroquois, — or Six Nations. 
This great Cherokee or Catawba Trail, including its Wanior 


KOSE AND ELZA. 


555 


Branch, is the only Indian road of note which traversed 
Fayette northward and southward ; as the majority of their 
trails ran eastward and westward from the river, to and 
across the mountains. But passing over all others, we will 
only notice the most famous ; and that is, Nemacolin’s Trail, 
which led from Cumberland, Md., to Fort Du Quesne. 
This tmsty, well-known Delaware chief lived at the mouth 
of a stream long known as Nemacolin’s Creek ; and when 
Col. Cresap arrived here in 1750, as agent of the Ohio 
Com., he engaged him as director, desiring him to choose 
for him the best and shortest route to the Forks of the Ohio. 
There were many paths and trails, — ^better or worse, all 
leading to the Ohio ; but the old Indian, with more shrewd- 
ness than many a modern engineer, chose this route ; and 
assisted by the other Indians, he opened the way by blaz- 
ing trees, and cutting and removing others till a respecta- 
ble pack-horse road appeared through the dense thicket. 
Four years later Washington and his troops used the same 
road, and repaired it as far as G-ist’s ; and the following 
year, 1755, Braddock and his army followed, repairing and 
widening it stiU further ; and then by a false freak of fame 
the highway of the Delaware received the name of the 
English General, and the stream he owned and loved, 
that of an English trader.’ ” Dunlap’s Creek, and Braddock’s 
Koad are household words, — ^but who now knows that Ne- 
macolin was owner of the first, and master engineer of the 
second, or even remembers his name ? . . . . 

« For various causes this county seems to have needed 
fewer settlers’ forts as a protection from the Indians than 
most other sections ; still there were a number, some of 
which will be noted by name. There was one on the Col. 
Gaddis farm, two miles south of Uniontown. This was 
probably erected by Col. G.,* as he was an early settler, 

* This Col. Thomas Gaddis and Jeremy Gard were both early and 
noted pioneers ; also M. Hop wood. 


550 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


and a man of large public spirit. This is said to be the 
first block house built in Fayette, dating back to 1758 ; and 
strangest of all, it is still standing, in a good state of preser- 
vation, — Bazil Brownfield, who has owned it for many years, 
afiirming that every log placed in it by those earhest pio- 
neers is there still, and sound. McCoy’s Fort stood on the 

Eli Baily farm, in South Union T23 Ashcraft’s Fort 

in Georges was in the vicinity of a high knob which com- 
manded a view from the mountain to the Monongahela, and 
from the Cheat hills, far northward. In times of danger 
this eminence, and the trees on it, were climbed daily by 
watchers who swept the country with anxious eyes to de- 
tect the smoke of camp-fires, — this being the dreaded sign 
that Indians had crossed their border. Once on spying 
the rising smoke, the scouts, as was their wont, dashed down 
in hot haste, and mounting their horses, galloped off, each a 
different course, to give the alarm, and soon from every 
shop and farm, and lonely eabin, men, wives, and children 
rushed to Ashcraft’s Fort. Arms and provisions were hur- 
ried in, doors were barred, bullets run, and with guns ready 
loaded they waited the foe. But lo! no foe appeared. 
Either the scouts had for once been mistaken, or the war- 
path this time lay in a different direction. 

“ But at another time, Mrs. Ashcraft had a small battle there 
all to herself. Hearing a wild turkey’s call, she seized a 
rifle and started to the door. ‘ Take care ! ’ said the wary 
husband. ‘Don’t you mind going to hunt turkeys, you 
may find a red skin.’ Mrs. A. paused, but hearing the 
sound again, and again, as natural as possible, she looked 
out just in time to see some bronze object dodge behind a 
tree. Sure enough it was no fowl, but an Indian imitditing 
one, and then peeping slyly out to see if his ruse had de- 
coyed any one from the Fort. The bold Amazon raised her 
lifle, and the . next time he showed his head, fired, and the 
poor wret(*b fell dead ; and thereabout, with two or three 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


557 


suicides, and other outcasts, he lies buried. Pierce’s Fort 
stood on the Cherokee Trail, four miles northeast of Union- 
town, and Fort Burd was built on the site of Bedstone Old 
Fort. There was one near Merrittstown, and another in 
Springhill. A large one called Lucas’ stood near the ‘ frame 
meeting-house ’ in Nicholson Tp., and another of the largest 
grade on Sandy Creek. This one was called Morris’ Fort, 
and is mentioned in ^ Doddridge’s Notes.’ .... 

“ This region of country had been visited by traders, 
both French and English, as early as 1748 ; some say much 
earlier ; but the first actual white settlers in Fayette County 
were Wendell Brown and his sons Mannus and Thomas, 
who arrived here between 1751 and ’5. They took up a fine 
tract of land in German Tp., where their descendants (in 
part) have ever since resided, and their first cabin here was 
built on the part lately owned by Emanuel Brown. Chris- 
topher Gist was the second pioneer-citizen ; for though 
here in 1750, he did not locate at Mount Braddock till 1753. 
Col. Thomas Gaddis was here too, betimes, as his Fort 
dates back to 1758. Near the same time Charles Brown- 
field,* an Englishman, came out ; his wife was the sister of 
Col. Burd, and from them descended a wide-spread family. 

Of the seven sons of Charles B., Empson, Bichard, 
William, and Edward, afterward emigrated to Kentucky, 
while Bobert, Benjamin, and Thomas remained here. It was 
said Empson was the first storekeeper in Beesontown, and 
the first owner of the Jehu Brownfield farm, and also so 
many adjacent farms that he could ride to Smithfield on his 
own land. 

‘‘.Bobeii’s son, Bobert, was the father of Basil B. ; and 
Benjamin was the father of Col. Ben. Brownfield.” The lat- 
ter lived to a great age,f and often talked of the changes he 

* Some old records call it Bloomfield. 

f Col. Ben. B. died Oct. 7tli, 1880, aged one hundred years, six 
months and seven days. 


558 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


and his father had seen ; described the dense tangled 
forest, alive with game, that had covered his own farm and 
all the county ; only dotted here and there vrith httle 
cleared spaces and the attendant cabin ; pictured the stam- 
pede caused by an Indian alarm, when all the scattered 
families of South Union snatched up their babes, seized 
whatever else they prized most, and dreading momentarily 
the sound of the war-whoo]3, fled to Gaddis’ Foii. Or he 
told of the wild beasts, bears and other kinds, then infesting 
the mountains; when, instead of the music of silver cornets, 
parlor organs, and pianos, the settlers had hstened nightly 
to the howling of wolves and the screaming of wild-cats and 
panthers. And sometimes, if driven by hunger, these grim 
neighbors had descended (as his father had witnessed), un- 
der the cover of night, to prowl around the cabins of the 
lone pioneers. .... 

Mrs. Watt* was another early citizen of Fayette, who hved 
to see mighty changes ; died Oct. 16, 1882; would have been 
a hundred years old in November.f The Troutmans, J too, 
were here very early, when, as the old gentleman used to 
say, the great want of the country was more able-bodied, 

*Mrs. W. possessed an interesting keepsake in a copy of *‘Tlie 
Vicar of Wakefield,’' a parting gift from her soldier brother, and 
taken from his knapsack as he was starting to the fatal field of Water- 
loo. Mrs. W. was a professing Christian eighty years, sixty of them 
in the Tent Church. 

The Gists and some other settlers left their new homes during the 
French War, not returning for some years ; and so great was the dread 
of the Indians, that few permanent settlements were made here till 
1765. 

t More than a hundred of Fayette’s pioneers lived long, dying when 
between 85 and 98. And even at this period, quite a number of her 
living citizens have counted their fourscore years, and are still 
healthy. 

X John Troutman, the last of his name in Pennsylvania, died Nov., 
1882, aged 95. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


559 


reliable settlers ; and so welcome was a new one that inci- 
dents like this occurred : One spring morning a large land- 
holder walking out over one of his tracts, found an unknown 
man there, chopping vigorously. 

‘‘ Halloo, stranger,” he cried ; “ what are you about 
here?” 

« Trying to make a living,” was the sententious reply. 

The owner drew near, and looked him over while they 
talked ; marked his frank, fearless eye and direct replies, 
and firm, resolute bearing. 

“ Fair kind of chap,” was his mental comment. “ Make a 
good frontiersman.” Then aloud: “Well, mister, I reckon 
you’re mistaken ; this is my land. But then I’ve plenty 
more, and we’re pretty lonesome here in the woods ; so 
clear away, and build your cabin, and I’ll make it yours, 
safe by turf and by twig.” So the bargain was sealed, giv- 
ing a fine farm of 200 acres for a neighbor. 

But knowing but few of these earliest pioneers’ names 
to a certainty, we will change to another topic that is his- 
torical and interesting to every loyal Fayette Countian; i. e., 
“Washington’s First Battle-ground,” etc. 

“ When the English were preparing to take permanent 
possession of the country near the junction of the Allegheny 
and Monongahela Eivers, they dispatched some 80 men 
(some say only 40) to construct a strong fort there. But 
before it was finished 1,000 French and Indians, with 18 
pieces of cannon, bore down on them, forcing them to sur- 
render the fort to them, which they finished and called Fort 
Du Quesne, after the Governor of Canada. This was on 
April 17, 1754, and was considered the first overt act of 
the French War. This aggression was warmly resented by 
the Colonists, and a few weeks later Lieutenant-Colonel 
Washington was dispatched with some Virginia troops to 
retake the fort. He passed along the Nemacolin Trail, re- 
pairing it as he went, aiming to reach the river, ship his 


560 


ROSE AND EI^A. 


stores and artillery by water, and, as soon as reinforcements 
anived, marcb on to Du Quesne. On the route, Washing- 
ton, with five others, descended the Yough some distance to 
see if it were navigable ; but voyage and hopes ended at 
Ohicpile Falls 

“Various repoiis reached him daily of parties of the ene- 
my being on the way to meet him ; and on the 24th of May 
the half-king of the Senecas sent him a letter that ‘the 
French army was moving on him/ And he then fell back 

to the Great Meadows and began to fortify 

On the 27th, the half-king sent another message : ‘ Fifty 
Frenchmen under M. La Force had aiTived, and these 
friendly Indians had tracked them to their hiding-place/ 
. . . . Taking 40 men, Washington marched to the Indian 
camp, six miles, through rain and thick darkness, and, after 
a council with the Seneca king and his men, they aU marched 
on to the attack. On the morning of the 28th, JumonviUe 
and others were killed and scalped by the Indians, and La 
Force and 18 others made prisoners ; Washington then re- 
turned again to Fort Necessity 

“ Six days after this first skirmish, another detachment of 
French and Indians, 900, or, as some historians say, 1,500 
strong, appeared. When within 400 or 500 yards of the 
foit, they saluted it with a discharge of musketry which did 
no injury. At first Washington formed his lines without, in 
the meadow ; but failing to draw the foe into an open en- 
counter, retired within his lines, which he defended bravely 
for ten hours, a violent storm prevailing all the while. But 
the Colonists being so few in number, only 300 or 400, and 
almost destitute of food and ammunition, were at length 
obhged to accept the offer of a parley, that De Yillers had 
twice tendered them. But though besides his disadvan- 
tages as to numbers and resources, his horses and cattle had 
all been stolen, making retreat as difficult as defence ; yet 
the boy colonel acted with such singular coolness and cau- 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


561 


tion, as to secure better terms than- many a veteran general. 
Indeed, the French commandant seems to have been a very 
fair sort of man (and good-natured, too), for after drawing 
up the papers (in French), he modified them again and 
again in Washington’s favor, till the latter could ask no 
more. And then, aU parties accepting them, they were 
signed amid torrents of rain by the dim light of a candle, 
by Captain Mackay and Colonel Washington on the English- 
Americo side, and on the French, by M. de Yillers. 

“ The substance of the capitulation papers were : (1) The 
Enghsh flag must be struck at once. (2) The French offi- 
cers taken in the former skirmish must be returned to Du 
Quesne, and hostage given till their arrival. (3) The Eng- 
lish must leave their artillery, and bind themselves to make 
no further estabhshments on the French dominions either 
there or elsewhere. (4) The garrison should retire without 
insult or outrage from the conquerors, and with permission 
to return at some future time to remove any effects they 
chose now to conceal and leave there. (5) They must evac- 
uate the for^t next morning at daybreak. (6) The troops 
should file out with all their stores, and baggage, and one 
swivel gun, and march away with drums beating and colors 
flying* 

‘‘ These were the honorable terms given by M. Coulin de 
ViUers (the half-brother of Jumonville) to Washington, but 
the latter having no means of conveyance, nothing could be 
taken but the arms of the men, and a few articles that were 
indispensable. Even the sick and wounded had to be car- 
ried by their fellows. The cannons lay there rusting for 
many a year, but paii, or all, were at length shipped South, 
to belch forth their thunder on the ‘ Bloody ground ’ of Ken- 
tucky. 

‘‘It was on the 4th of July, 1754, that the Colonists left 


* This seems more like a triumph than a defeat. 
24* 


562 


ROSE AND ELZA 


their fort at dawn, which was entered and destroyed by the 

French the same day Through all his after years, 

Washington loved this place, and at his special request the 
‘ Fort ’ and the land around it (234 acres) became his own, 
which he kept till death, and mentioned in his last will. It 
was not strange he loved it, for it was a lovely spot, and 
destined to be evermore classic ground. It was here, amid 
the evergreen hills of Fayette, that his life’s work and his 
fame, the fame of a hero for aU time, began. Here were 
his first battle-fields, and here, on them, the beginning of 
the French War. At the attacks on JumonviUe’s camp and 
Great Meadows, the first blood flowed, the first blow fell, 
that initiated the French and English War in America, last- 
ing nine years, and agitating two continents, from the head- 
waters of the Ohio to the banks of the Ganges. 

“ And moreover, here (say the savants), on these blood- 
stained mountain heights, seeds were germinated from 
which eventually sprang the revolt and independence of the 
Colonies, and the horrors and triumphs of the French Rev- 
olution, when each party met retributive justice for the 
wrongs done the Indian and other weaker nations ; and 
proud, imperious Britain, and light, godless Gaul, were made 
to gather the fruit they had planted, and reap as they had 
sown.” — (J. Veach.) 

But these old-time camps, and places of interest, deserve 
more than a passing notice ; and we condense and quote 
from a late writer the following description : 

“ The Fort stood ten miles east of Uniontown, on the 
mountain ridge known hereabouts as Laurel Hill, and was 
built in a glade (or natural mead) called Great Meadows, 
on the banks of a run bearing the same name, and enclosed 
about one-third of an acre. For sixty years after, its em- 
bankments remained some three feet high — showing its 
form to have been an obtuse-angled triangle. And even 
now, after one hundred and thirty years have passed, if the 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


563 


traveller will leave the national pike between its milestones 
52 and 53 to Cumberland, and walk some three hundred 
yards south, he will find the spot, and may still trace the 
mouldering lines, and imagine the scene. The action began 
with the English troops in the glade before their fort, Cap- 
tain Mackay's men holding the outside trenches, and the 
French charging from the wooded eminence on the north- 
west, toward the road. But afterward the French took a 
nearer position on the east-southeast side, and the English 
retired within their lines. When Washington abandoned 
his new fort at Gist’s* (whither he had marched after the 
Jumonville fight),' and fell back to Great Meadows and be- 
gan enlarging and strengthening the one there for the at- 
tack; mutiny among his troops, instead of brave fighting, 
might have been expected. Half famished, and well-nigh 
exhausted with hard labor and forced marches over the 
rocky steeps, up which (for lack of teams) they had by main 
strength dragged and carried the heavy guns, the poor fel- 
lows had meantime lived eight days without bread,f their 
only rations being lean beef without salt, and a sup of 
rum. Then they were few in numbers, almost destitute of 
ammunition. A powerful foe was approaching. No marvel 
they called their forlorn hope Fort Necessity. The land 
around it is now cleared and cultivated; and as Pennsylvania 
presented it at an early day to Gen. W., she long since called 
it by his name. Mount Washington. 


* The French, hearing of this new fort, rushed on all night, and 
surrounded it at dawn of July 2d, and poured in a general fire, but, 
finding the prey had escaped, pursued it to Great Meadows, guided 
by a deserter from the English camp. On their return, they stopped 
long enough to demolish this unfinished Gist Fort too, and, having 
burned all the settlements there and wherever they could find them, 
marched back triumphantly to Du Quesne. 

f Some writers mention a few rations of miserable bread ; others 
say none. 


564 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


‘‘ Dunbar’s Camp, six miles from Uniontown, lies three 
hundred feet below the summit of Wolf Hill, one of the 
highest points of Laurel Mountain, which is 3,000 feet 
above the level of the sea, and is visible from many places 
in three counties. There are two fine springs near the 
camp, below which the soldiers dug a pond, to have abun- 
dance of water ; and into this ‘ Dunbar the Tardy ’ threw 
50,000 pounds of powder, etc., before his notable retreat. 

Jumonville’s Camp is half a mile south of Dunbar’s and 
five hundred yards east of Braddock’s road. It is surround- 
ed by a wall of rocks twenty feet high, which are (or were 
then) surmounted by a dense laurel thicket. Few but an 
Indian would have discovered it ; for there is not a place 
above ground in Fayette better suited for the concealment 
of spies while they watched and counted Washington’s lit- 
tle army that was soon to pass that way. 

Tenacharison’s, the Seneca half -king’s camp, was two 
miles further south, about fifty rods north of the Great 
Rock, and near a beautiful, unfailing spring, since called 
Washington’s Spring.” But this was a piece of robbery that 
the great General would never have wished or approved of ; 
for it was not his camp or spring, but the chieftain’s, and 
should have been called after its owner. It was from him 
that Washington had twice received warning letters bearing 
the very information he most needed. It was to this camp 
he came with a chosen band, through rain and darkness, to 
council with the trusted owner, who had served him well 
where his own scouts had failed ; and it was from hence 
that this brave, faithful ally led him with wary step to sur- 
prise the hidden fortress and the lurking foe. 

To Washington and to the English, Tenacharison was 
ever a faithful friend ; and here in his own camp, at least, 
the Seneca king should be remembered. And it seems but 
simple justice that this fountain, his own sweet mountain 
spring, should bear his name, Tenacharison. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


565 


‘‘Other persons of note, both whites and Indians, who 
figured around Fort Necessity in 1754, might be named. 
Among the latter were Monacatootha, an Oneida chief ; 
Shingiss, a Delaware chief ; Queen Aliquippa,* and the 
prince, her son, etc. Including squaws and pappooses, 
there were two hundred Indians that kept near the fort, 
and retreated with the English to Yirginia. 

“ Among the distinguished whites, surgeons and officers, 
were Dr. Craik, the friend and physician of Washington till 
death, and Dr. H. Mercer. Both were Scotchmen, and the 
latter was an actor on the famous and fatal field of Cullo- 
den. These two both became landholders in Fayette. 
Among the officers were Stobo, engineer of both forts ; Van 
Braam, Hogg, Peyronie (a French Protestant Chevalier), 
Poison, Muse, Mackay, Stephens, Lewis. AU these were 
captains or majors, and most of them afterward rose to emi- 
nence of some kind. The two latter became generals in 
the Revolutionary War. 

“It was in November, 1753, that Washington, then in his 
twenty-second year, had first been sent along this same 
mountain-route on horseback, with guide, interpreters, ser- 
vants, tents, baggage, etc., going as envoy to note the num- 
bers and designs of the French about the Ohio, and to 

warn them off But the youthful Colonel and his 

paper mandate had no sort of effect. The next year he 
was sent again with shot and shell to force them away ; 
but as we have seen, with no better results than before. 
And the following year he was dispatched again the third 
time on the same errand, as aide to Gen. Braddock, the 

* ‘ * Queen A. ’s home was where McKeesport now stands. She is 
mentioned by Washington, in 1753, as having taken offence at him 
for passing her house (or tent) without calling. On returning, he made 
her both a visit and a present or two ; and thus her Majesty’s wrath 
was appeased.” 


566 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


bravest, but most unfortunate of leaders. But the conflict 
between these two mighty nations was now to begin in 
earnest, with the fair fields of America at once the arena 
and the prize. France was ready and smiling ; and Eng- 
land, enraged and determined, poured forth her stores with 
liberal hand, marshaled her bravest troops, and called out 

her most trusted generals The united armies, 

English and Colonial, marched from Fort Cumberland on 
the 7th, 8th, and 10th of June, 1755, commanded by Major- 
General Sir Edward Braddock, Colonel Sir Peter Halket, 
Colonel Thomas Dunbar, Major Sir John Sinclair, and 

eighty-five other commissioned officers 

As soon as they crossed the borders of Fayette County 
they began to be harassed by flying parties of the foe. 
Orme’s journal says,* June 24th, 1755 : ‘We passed a camp 
just abandoned by 170 French and Indians, who had left 
many threats, bravadoes, etc., against us written on the 
trees. June 25th, passed Fort Necessity ; the sentinels 
fired on some spies ; same day three of our men were 
shot by them and scalped. Gen. B. bade our troops to 
retaliate, and even offered a bounty of five pounds for 
every scalp brought in. June 26th, camped at the Seneca 
King’s Spring (Washington’s) ; saw another camp of the 
enemies’, — ^their fires still burning. Had left more threats 
and taunts on the trees written in both French and Indian ; 
the latter had marked the number of scalps taken from our 
party. Their leader is M. Sieur Normanville. June 27th, 
marched to Gist’s ; and encamped near Washington’s ruined 
Fort there. June 28th, camped near Yough E.,’ etc., etc. 
By the number of the encampments mentioned, they seem 
to have spent some eight days marching, and repairing 
roads through Fayette County ; and Dunbar, with his 850 


* Only a few sentences frona Orme’s interesting journal can be in- 
serted. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


567 


men, did not leave it at all”; but on reaching the lofty 
heights of Wolf Hill, encamped by its cool fountains, and 

there remained “ Braddock’s and Halket’s command, 

the main divisions of the- army, crossed the Monongahela, 
on the 9th of July, gayly uniformed, with burnished arms, 
and floating banners, looking so proud and brave, that 
Washington was wont to say that, ‘ he had never seen a 
more animating sight.’ They were now within eleven miles 
of Du Quesne, the Fort they were marching so confidently 
to retake, but they were destined never to reach it. They 
had but just crossed the river when the enemy approached, 
and a battle instantly began that lasted from 1 o’clock p.m. 
to 5 P.M. Only a small body of French appeared at first, 
and would have been soon overcome, and probably their 
whole army routed, had it all fought in the open field ; but 
while the former met them fairly, their savage allies lay 
completely concealed in two ravines eight or ten feet deep, 
and from thence poured in from both sides a constant and 
deadly fire from their 600 unerring rifles. 

“ This fearful and destructive charge from a hidden foe> 
thinned the foremost ranks fast, and threw others into con- 
fusion Some charge the soldiers with cowardice, 

but this scarcely seems just when it is known the action 
lasted four hours ; till more than half their number lay 
dead or wounded, and the remnant were without leaders, 
nearly all the latter having fallen. Braddock had four 
horses killed under him (Orme says five), and had just 
mounted another, when a ball shattered his right arm, and 
entered his lungs. There had been terror before his fall. 
There was panic now. The drums beat a retreat. Wash- 
ington, the highest officer left, strove to give it some sem- 
blance of order, but it was a headlong flight. Stores, can- 
non, 25,000 pounds of specie, precious papers, nearly every- 
thing was left. Those who escaped lost all but the arms in 
their hands, and some even these. Washington, too, lost 


568 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


many valuables. He had but just left his bed where he had 
been confined over ten days with fever, yet eagerly entered 
the battle, though very weak and emaciated ; and. escaped 
unscathed, though he had two horses killed under him, and 
four bullets through his coat.* .... By ten o’clock that night 
part of the broken army reached Gist’s, and the wounded 
officers were laid around the Spring, to await aid from Dun- 
bar’s camp. Braddock was suffering intensely in mind and 
body, but withal did not forget others. As soon as supplies 
arrived, he forwarded a portioji to those left behind, and 
ordered more wagons and troops from Dunbar to fetch off 
the wounded. But few, or none, who had been left on the 
field in the flight were ever recovered. Some poor crea- 
tures had crept aw^ay into the thickets, and died unaided, 
and unseen ; but the more part had perished under the 
scalj^ing knife and tomahawk, and others still at the stake.*]' 
The dead were left unburied on the bloody field, and here 
their bones lay bleaching for many a year, and some were 

found a full league away On the 11th, the wounded 

General and the few with him reached the camp (Dunbar’s) 
to find that, too, in wild disorder. Some had ah-eady de- 
sei-ted ; others were sick and wounded ; and all were panic- 
stricken. With such material, Dunbar was scarcely to be 
blamed for not waiting to Tisk a second battle, which he 
judged would only prove a second defeat. Probably (under 
the circumstances) a general retreat was inevitable ; and it 
was agreed on. Braddock’s sands were ebbing fast, but 
orders were still issued in his name, and in obedience to 

*^* Years after, an old chief told Washington, that he and his war- 
riors had aimed and fired at him a great many times that day ; and 
that he had now come a long distance to see and honor the man that 
could not be killed in battle. 

f Col. S., a prisoner at Fort D., reported seeing eleven or twelve of 
Braddock’s men led in naked and fettered, who were tortured and 
burned at the stake on the north bank of the Allegheny. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


569 


these, the cannon were spiked, shells bursted, 150 wagons 
burned, and baggage and stores of all kinds scattered or 
destroyed. Of all the vast supplies carried there with such 
toil and expense, nothing was taken away save a few hght 
wagons for the disabled, two swivels, and what little was 
absolutely indispensable. 

“ The demoralized army began its march on the 12th, and 
on the next night encamped two miles west of Fort Neces- 
sity. Here Braddock died ; and on the 14th of July, 1755, 
wrapped in his martial cloak, was buried at dawn. Wash- 
ingion read over him the funeral service; and, the better to 
conceal the grave and preserve it from desecration, it was 
made in the road, and all the troops and teams were 
marched over it. Washington designed erecting a monu- 
ment there, when peace was restored ; but, one war follow- 
ing after another, no opportunity offered till 1784, when he 
returned for that purpose, and made the most diligent 
search. But, to his great regret, the spot could not be 
found. .... In 1820, some men, in digging and repairing 
the road, came on to some remains and military trappings 
designating the rank of an English major-general. All un- 
wittingly they had found the long-lost grave of Braddock, 
made sixty-five years before.f Some of the bones were car- 
ried off by different persons as relics, and the rest were re- 
interred under an adjacent tree, without stone or coffin, as 
before! J The former, the scattered bones (it was said), were 


* Washington and Braddock seem to have been friends as well as 
brothers in arms. 

f A short time after the English retreated from Dunbar’s Camp, 
the insolent victors arrived there and completed the work of destruc- 
tion ; and (except small Indian raids) this was the last body of hostile 
troops that ever invaded the soil of Fayette County, this of July, 
1755. 

X The spot is now enclosed, evergreens are flourishing, — and a sim- 
ple, painted board points it out and reads — Braddock’s Grave.” 


570 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


afterward collected by Abr. Stewart, and forwarded to Peal’s 
Museum.” 

And thus ends the story of the daring, but misguided hero 
of the French War. What a reward this, for forty years’ 
service for his country ! Is this England’s gratitude ? Is 
this fame and glory ? . . . . 

After this doleful, bloody nine years’ struggle closed, and 
settlers by the thousands began to throng to Fayette and 
the adjoining counties, another war began of a different 
kind, which caused no end of strife and bitterness, and last- 
ed twenty years. This was the “ Boundary Controversy,” 
which was finally ended by Lord Baltimore and the Penns 
agreeing to engage competent persons to draw the line care- 
fully and mark it permanently, by setting stone posts every 
five miles. These, it was said, were brought from England, 
and bore the letter P on one side, and Y and M on the other. 

“ To execute this difficult task, two noted London astrono- 
mers were chosen, who arrived here in 1763 ; and the work, 
which they performed wisely and well, received their names, 
being ever since known as Mason and Dixon’s line. 

“ This southern boundary of Pennsylvania, and of Fayette 
County as well, has several striking peculiarities, and is with- 
out a model or a fellow on the continent. It Is sometimes 
confounded with the familiar line 36 — 30 ; but that has 
neither the beauty, accuracy, or historic interest of ours. 
This has a history of over one hundred and twenty years, 
spreading out over more than half the old thirteen States, 
and sinking deep into the very foundations of their being. 
.... It abounds in artful remedies for inconvenient lim- 
itations, and bold encroachments on vested rights. It bounds 
the sovereignty of four States, each as tenacious of its laws 
as of its soil. Kings, lords, commoners, English, Swedes, 
Dutch, Quakers, Catholics, slaves and freemen, figure in the 
story with dramatic effect ; and along this disputed border 
scenes of riot, invasion, and murder have been enacted. Here, 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


571 


before its establisbinent, endurance and evasion were put to 
their highest tests ; and in tracing it, science achieved one 
of its most arduous undei'takings. In intricacy and inter- 
est (at least), this subject, that we but touch on, is inferior 
to none in American history. 

A few years later, in 1780, Pennsylvania passed her ab- 
olition law ; though, with her usual grave conservatism and 
Quaker dread of strife, she made the change gradually, in 
this way : enacting ‘ that all colored persons born after 
March 1st, 1780, shall be free-bom, but, if duly registered, 
may be held as servants till they are twenty-eight/ To 
many this new law was hateful, and, to avoid it, they re- 
moved to Ya., Ken., or further South, where their pet insti- 
tution seemed as fixed as the soil.” But one thing was cer- 
tain and unalterable : into the Keystone it could come no 
more. And this added a new interest to our State and county 
boundary; so that, in the course of time. Mason and Dixon’s 
hne became famous over Christendom as the Rubicon ’twixt 
North and South — as the Northern limit to the slave ^Dower, 
as the firm bulwark of freedom, against which the loud, an- 
giy waves of slavery dashed and broke in vain. Mr. Y. 
adds jestingly : 

And shofild we not love our noble boundary well ? For 
is it not owing to this well-drawn line that our fair Phila- 
delphia is not what Cressap insolently termed it, ‘ a pretty 
Maryland town,’ and we ourselves to-day Marylanders or 
Yirginians ? ” 

This vexed “boundary question” being now settled, the 
county began to flourish. Towns were laid out, and manu- 
factures commenced. Beesontown or Uniontown was laid 
out in 1768 by Henry Beeson, a Quaker. Once when Mrs. 
B. was all alone in her cabin, she saw several groups of hos- 
tile Indians skulking in the bushes, and was greatly alarmed 
till she overheard one of the old warriors * telling the others 


* Of course the chief spoke in broken English. 


572 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


tliat ‘‘ Beeson was one of Penn’s, men, and that his family 
must not be molested”; on which they all passed on peace- 
ably. 

“Brownsville was located in 1785. The site was owned 
by Colonel Cressap, who sold it to the Browns. On a stone 
in an adjacent cemetery may still be read : ‘ Thomas Brown, 
once the ’ owner of this town, departed this life, March, 
1797.’ 

“ Perryopolis is situated fourteen miles north of Union, on 
a fertile tract of land of 1,650 acres, that once belonged to 
Washington, and still bears his name. Laid out by Hersey 
and Bums. Connelsville, by Z. Connel, 1796. New Haven, 
by I. Meason, 1796, etc., etc. Of many others, neither date 
nor founders are known. 

“ The first paper-mill here was erected on the Bedstone, 
four miles east of Brownsville, 1796, by J. Sharpless and S. 

Jackson The latter, having praised the Excise Law, 

and dubbed the Whisky Boys a scrub Congress, was arrest- 
ed by them, and brought before one of their meetings for 
punishment. He would surely have been injured in person, 
property, or both, had not Judge Breckenridge been his 
friend. Mounting the stand, he calmed the mob by a flat- 
tering harangue, in which he adroitly hinted that so large 
and august an assemblage could punish the culprit suffi- 
ciently by an ill name. ‘ Yes,’ he cried, ‘ let us repay the 
fellow in his own coin. Let us dub him a scrub Quaker, and 
let him go.’ And so they did. 

“The first Western glass works was founded by Meason 
(or some say Nicholson), 17 — . Coal, our great specialty, 
though used in England in the 9th century, was first dis- 
covered in America by a French Jesuit in 1679. It was 
mentioned by traders in Fayette in 1748, but was little used 
for many years. Coke-making was begun here near the 
Yough, early in this century ; but in 1841 there were still 
but two ovens burning, and in 1855 not over one hundred 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


573 


ovens in all Western Pa., while this county alone now num- 
bers them by thousands on thousands.” 

Iron. — The first iron ore ever found or manufactured 
west of the Alleghenies was in Fayette County ; and to one 
of its citizens, John Hayden, belongs the honor of both. A 
brother Jerseyman, he often called on Paul T., to talk of 
the comforts of the home they had left, and of the priva- 
tions and prospects of the new. One theme of which he 
never wearied (though his listeners did), was the want of 
iron.* “ Iron ore must be here, somewhere,” he would say. 
“ It is here, I know, and I am looking for it in all my walks ; 
and mark my words, we will find it yet.” 

But as he was only thinking of, and seeking the red Jer- 
sey ore, he was unsuccessful for some time. In the autumn 
of 1790, he made a small lime-kiln, and, after burning it the 
usual time (needing hme immediately), he took out some 
of the stones and plunged them in water : but they would 
not slack. After repeated trials, finding them still as hard 
and heavy as ever, the subject that seldom left his mind long 
occurred to him. Ore, ore — might not this be some new 
kind of iron ore ? Some particles of the stone, crushed to 
sand, lay at his feet, and quick as thought he snatched his 
pocket magnet out, and touched the debris, and — yes, the 
atoms stirred like life and clung to the magnet. His heart 
beat fast. Here it was ! This must be iron ore ! But then 
it was so odd-looking, so different from any kind he had 
ever seen. For fear of mistake, he would make no stir, but 
go quietly and test it at some smithy. Gathering up some 
of the blue stones, he rode from shop to shop ; but not one 
of the faithless, churlish Vulcans would permit the experi- 
ment. “ It was all nonsense,” they said. “ There was no 
ore here, everybody knew.” But, not disheaidened, he 


* Old people used to say of W. Pa. : A very fine country' but it 
can never prosper, because there is no salt nor iron there. ” 


574 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


pushed on to another shop. Here the smith was a Jersey 
friend, and he cheerfully lent his hearth and everything 
for the trial. After long heating and hammering, sure 
enough, out came a strong bar of iron, as large as a harrow- 
tooth ! 

Proud as a king, Hayden mounted his horse, and, carry- 
ing his piece of metal, and a lump of the ore with him, 
rode to New Jersey to engage aid to build a furnace on his 

farm. But like the smiths here, none would listen 

“ He then returned to Philadelphia, and, on making known 
his discovery there, was so fortunate (or unfortunate) as to 
secure as a jDartner, John Nicholson, the State Comptroller. 
Together they built Fairfield furnace about 1791-2. And 
in 1794 Hayden, assisted by T. Wynn and W. Squire, built 

Fairchance But eventually Nicholson, his patron, 

went down, and Hayden followed ; and John Oliphant, Sr., 
and F. H. Oliphant, his son, succeeded to his furnaces and 
his fame 

“ Though Meason, profiting by his absence in search of 
aid, started a furnace a year before Fairfield, yet it may be 
set down as certain, that John Hayden in 1790 discovered 
the first ore west of the mountains, and made the first 
iron.” 

A town now decayed, but then noted for business, was 
founded by him, and in maps and history still bears his 
name, as does also an ancient cemetery. The latter is not 
far from his furnaces, some two miles north of Fair- 
chance, and a mile or less west of Fairfield. And here, 
a few yards south of the oft-sought grave of Polly 
Williams, lies another, unmarked, unnoticed, unknown; and 
this, to the disgrace of Fayette County and Western Penn- 
sylvania, is that of her gr^at benefactor.* It is near the 
scene of his discovery, and hard by the spot where he died 


Hayden died in the summer of 1835 or 1836 at an advanced age. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


575 


in age and penury ; for the vast industry he inaugurated, 
though benefiting thousands, and a lasting boon to the 
country, only impoverished himself. A grateful land should 
have rewarded him in life ; but it is too late now ; and yet 
common justice' demands that public benefactors should be 
remembered. The forge and furnace men, at least, should rally 
and save their pioneer leader’s name and grave from oblivion 
by erecting there strong enclosures, and a noble monument. 
And it would beseem their craft, and be a most fitting 
tribute to him, its first discoverer, if all were built of iron, 
his own imperishable iron. 

“ The first rolling-mill was run at Plumpsock by Lewis and 
Meason. The first gun factory was carried on at Hay den- 
town by Baker and Grallatin, where, besides many other 
things, arms were manufactured for the Government. 

“The first post-office in Payette was started probably 
about 1795-97. It is certain there was none here till after 
the Whisky Insurrection of 1794. For a long period Pitts- 
burg post-office was the only one west of the mountains, 
and letters wei'e directed there for persons in Fayette 
County, and for citizens of Kentucky, and for other distant 
points. A chance traveller’s kindness was the only de- 
pendence for receiving mail, and it is no marvel that friends 
then, were often years without tidings of each other.” 


A FEW OF Fayette’s distinguished dead. 

From old records, etc., we condense and extract the fol- 
lowing: “N. Gist, made a Colonel by Washington in 1777; 
afterwards a General in the Kevolution. Col. J. PauU, a 
brave officer and soldier at 18. He was in ‘ Crawford’s 

Campaign,’ and many others While sheriff he had to 

attend to some of the Whisky Eebels, and also to the mur- 
derer McFall. M. broke jail, but was retaken in Md., 
and though Chadwick lived two days, he was sentenced to 


576 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


death and hung* a mile north of U., Nov. 10, 1794. Col. 
P. employed Ed. Bell as hangman. 

“Col. W. Crawford, an intimate friend of Washington’s, 
was a Captain in the French War, etc. He was a cool, brave 
man, and needed all his courage, when, in 1782, he led his 
famous campaign against the Indians, was taken captive 
June 10th, and burned at the stake with tortures too horri- 
ble to write. After enduring the agony for two hours, he 
besought Simon Grityf (who had often sat at his board) to 
end it with a bullet ; but the Seneca with a brutal laugh re- 
fused. Many of the widows of his men lived hereabout ; 
i. e., in Union township, after the campaign ; but the 
Colonel’s home was near the Yough, where its ruins were 
pointed out as late as 1833. 

“ Gen. Ephraim Douglass lived in Uniontown, and was 
treasurer there for fifteen years. The great scarcity of 
money made the payment of taxes a grievous burden, and 
the collection of them extremely difficult and unpleasant ; 
but that this county was prompt with her quota, old notes 
and receipts still show ; but we quote but a part of one : 



Sir — The honorable position Fayette County holds by the punc- 
tual discharge of her taxes, reflects high credit on officers and people. 
. ... We ask nothing of you. You have anticipated our demands, 
and your example will have a good influence on others 


“ John Nicholson. 


To Eph. Douglass, Treas. of Fayette County. 


* Wild urchins, who liked to tease others, used to repeat this stanza: 


‘"McFall, for what did you hang, McFall ? 

And the ghost said, ‘ Nothing, nothing at all.' 


And when twitted for flbbing about the dead’s talking, could re- 
tort, “ I didn’t say he talked. Sure, I told you he said nothing at all.” 
f A half breed. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


577 


“Mr. D. was a General in the Revolution, and in 1777 
was made a prisoner by Cornwallis, and suffered great pri- 
vations. In 1783 he went on a very dangerous mission to 
the Indians around Niagara, and made it a success. In 
time he became so expert in their language and manners, 
that once, painted and dressed in their garb, he in sport 
joined their council and spoke, an old sachem asking, ‘ What 
chief is that ? ’ D. was a kind, liberal man to friends in 
distress. 

“ J. Smihe was an early and favorite statesman of Fayette; 
kept in office thirty years. He was more than that, — a de- 
vout Christian. 

“ Col. Alex. Maclean surveyed the land, and advised Bee- 
son in the laying out of Union ; became Register and Re- 
corder in Uniontown, did no end of business (much gratis), 
and died there poor and honest. 

“ George Wilson, Lieutenant-Colonel in the Revolution. A 
life-long Presbyterian. New Geneva was founded by his 
son, and called Wilson’s Port. 

“Albert Gallatin,* born at Geneva, Switzerland, 1761; 
came to Fayette while yet in his teens, and has been 

justly termed one of her most eminent men One 

of the very few who never wished pohtical distinction 
nor sought for honors and office, yet both constantly 
sought him; made a Senator under Washington’s reign, 
he remaind a leader in Congress for three terms. 
Under Jefferson and Madison, he was Secretary of 
the Treasury, filling the office for twelve years with pre- 
eminent prudence and ability. .... He was sent as 
Foreign Minister to England by Madison ; to France by 

Monroe, and to England again by Adams Served 

the nation faithfully in the Senate, in Congress, in the Cabi- 


* “ Gallatin was related to Necker, also to Madame De Stael.'’ — 
Old Notes. 


25 


678 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


net, and as ambassador for thirty-six years. A true lover 
of America, he at one time served as a volunteer, advancing 
money from his own purse for the suppoi*t of the suffering 

garrison He hated and opposed slavery ; favored 

education for all ; . did more than any other man to 

quell the ‘ Whisky Boys ’ peaceably ; originated the idea of 
the National Koad, etc., etc. He also took a prominent part 
in the reception, of Lafayette. When, fifty years after the 
Revolution, that patriot returned with his son, George 
Washington De Lafayette, a grateful people met him every- 
where with cheers, feasts, and music, making his journey 
through the twenty-four States one perpetual triumphal 
march ; and no place gave him a warmer greeting than 
Fayette County, Pennsylvania. At Uniontown, especially, 
great preparations were made for this high day. May 26, 
1825. Just before the court-house a tent, elegantly fes- 
tooned and decked with flowers, sprang up in a night 
Splendid arches overhung the streets ; troops paraded, flags 
fluttered, and drums beat. At noon Gallatin and guard ar- 
rived, and were escorted by the military to Walker’s Hotel; 
and at 5 p.m. a great procession moving, and a discharge of 
thirteen guns, heralded the approach of the nation’s guest.* 
.... At the fairy pavilion the ladies, robed in white, and 
wreathed in roses, waited en masse to greet him with wav- 
ing kerchiefs and sweetest smiles ; and GaUatin received 
and embraced him, his own, and his country’s friend, with a 
warmth that brought tears to the General’s eyes. Then the 
former gave a lengthy but fitting address of welcome ; and 
the Marquis responded in a neat speech, in which, among 
other things, he referred to the honor done him by the 
county’s name ; praised its great improvement, and the 
courtesy of its capital, Uniontown. At night the town was 

* “ After the war Congress donated to this true friend (Marie Jean 
Paul Roch Yves Gilbert Mottier, Marquis de la Payette) $200,000 and 
a township of land/’ He died in 1834. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


679 


illuminated and a gay time had; and next morning Lafay- 
ette left with Gallatin and a numerous escort for New 
Geneva, stopping also at Smithfield. At Gallatin’s elegant 
home (Friendship Hill), a high feast was held, and on the 

29th the General left for Pittsburg He spent a year 

in America, and before leaving paid another, and last visit 
and adieu to Washington’s grave. 

‘‘ In his latter years, Gallatin became banker for the Astors 
in New York ; but though so thorough a business man and 
statesman, he was also a finished scholar and writer. His 
official reports are models of clearness and conciseness ; and 
even at 85 his powerful papers against the ‘ Annexation of 
Texas,’ and the Mexican War, were the strongest and most 
unanswerable of all the utterances that caused the over- 
throw of the Democratic party. He died in 1849, aged 88 
years. And while the love of freedom, truth, and purity 
abides with us, his name and character will be revered.” 

Eobert Baird, D.D. Of this good Presbyterian divine a 
New York writer says: “ Dr. B. was a native of Fayette, Pa., 
and a student of Madison College, Uniontown. A diffident, 
sensitive boy, he shrank from strangers, and though he 
loved learning, would rather have stayed at home on the 
farm, where his country dress and manners would have 
suited better, .... than among so many strange, polished 
students. But he is not the first great man who has worn 
homespun, and been churned through college by a good 

mother A wise and useful man, he has been sent 

some eight or ten times to Europe as envoy from the church- 
es, and has in many ways attained an enviable celebrity at 
home and abroad.” 

“Andrew Stewart and Lyt. Dawson were also favorite 
sons of Fayette; statesmen whom she delighted to honor and 
kept long as her representatives in Congress, the former 18 
or 20 years. Freeman Lewis, Eev. Wm. Browenfield, Gen. A. 
McClelland, Gen. Beeson, R. P. Flenniken (Minister to Den- 


680 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


mark), and G-en. Howell, were distinguished citizens, besides 
many others too numerous to mention. Skiles and Beeson 
were about the first or second merchants in Uniontown. 

“ Of the first doctors, this list mentions none earlier than 
Dr. Samuel Sacket, the two Merchonts, Hugh Campbell, and 
McCall. Of jurists, their honors, Judge Addison, Koberts, 
Baird, Ewing ; and lawyers. Boss, Jennings, WiUkins, Aus- 
tin. Preachers : many of their names have been mentioned; 
but those of Fleming, Asa Shinn, C. Elliott, Bascom, and 
Browm should be added. All these were Methodist clergy- 
men, and the last three were presidents of Madison College. 

“ To the jurists’ list we would add the name of J. Veach, 
who, in one of his many interesting articles, gravely makes 
this ‘palpable hit’ at his own profession: ‘In the old times, 
when our courts were held at Beesontown and- elsewhere, 
the sturdy yeomanry from Cheat and George’s Creek, from 
Bedstone and the Yough, resorted to its sittings more to 
hear the news and exchange greetings than to foment dis- 
putes, or testify against their neighbors’ honesty or good 
names. Of such suits as fill our courts now, there were al- 
most none. And our county was seven years in existence 
before it had one resident lawyer ! ’ The higher law of love 
and kindness* was more in vogue then than now. Judging 
from their actions, some of our pioneer fathers did keep the 
golden rule, did as they would be done by, followed justice 
and mercy and loved their neighbor as themselves, though 
there was no coui’t to compel, no prisons to threaten.” 


* Among many instances of unselfishness, this one should he 
noted. Once in those early days, a poor stranger from Md. was lying 
in Fayette County with a broken leg ; and despite all the kindness 
shown him, grew very homesick. So what did these good Samari- 
tans do, but freely offer to carry him home in a hammock ! And so 
tliey did, eight of them bearing him up and down the steep mountain 
paths to his friends in Hagerstown, Maryland. Their names were 
copied, and should follow here, but have been mislaid. 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


581 


Schools. — Though Penn had stipulated for education 
throughout his realm,— and that it should be free to the 
poor ; yet no general system for this was begun till 1833. 

Of the early teachers, most are now forgotten ; but the 
names of a few who once figured in South Union Tp., some 
after the Free Schools began, and some before, were R. 
Sprowl, A. L. Littell, J. Watkins, B. Hayden, R. Morton, J. 
Dorsey, Wilmot, Fleming, Cambee, Mont Brun. All, it is 
said, were fair scholars and teachers, and some of them are 
still remembered well. The latter two were of Gaelic blood; 
C. was a broad, jolly fellow, in a green flannel coat, who 
seemed to read character at sight. ‘‘ A bad boy,” he said 
of one, the instant he crossed the sill, “ a real mischief.” 
And sure enough, this was the lad who made it lively for 
his teachers, and himself too ; for if by any chance he es- 
caped a switching one day, he usually got two the next to 
make it up. This C. was probably over-gay for a teacher, 
and partial to the prettiest girls. A good pemnan and 
carver he, as several trees hereabout used to bear in bold, 
round letters this rhyme : ‘‘ John C. Cambee, 18 and 33.” — 
M. B. was tall, pale, and slender ; and his dress rather of 
the shabby genteel ” order. Fine seal brown cloth ; but 
shiny, threadbai'e, and darned. He kept a long rod, but 
used many other penalties too. Small girl idlers, he stood 
in the corner, with faces to the wall. Boys of the same size 
were sometimes graced with a pair of leather spectacles 
that seemed much more amusing to the spectators, than to 
the wearer, who often bawled aloud. Older culprits were 
often made to “hold the books,” — i. e,, stand with the right 
arm extended perfectly straight, and hold a weight of from 
two to four books in the hand. This was his worst punish- 
ment, and it was a hard, injurious one, that both parents 
and pupils complained about. Monsieur’s penmanship was 
exquisitely neat and fair ; and as a copy, he sometimes wrote 
this — 


582 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


Oh breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, 

Where cold and unheeded, his relics are laid,” etc. 

And at times he murmured the same couplet to himself. 
Withal he was a bad sleeper, — flinging his arms aloft, and 
often groaning, and crying out at dead of night. So his 
host, deeming the lines original, and putting that and this 
together, began to half fear that his lodger was privy to 
some dark secret. But oh, no, — the poor dominie was only 
fond of poetry by day, and too fond of pork and mince- 
pies at night. 

Messrs. F. and W. were both gentlemanly youths, who 
impressed the school at first sight, by their easy manners, 
and new store- clothes. One, a Yankee Presbyterian, had an 
odd way of calhng his pupils, by pointing at, or nodding to 
them, because he could not remember names ; was a small, 
mild-tempered man ; kind, but firm and orderly. F., the 
other, was a large, florid, easy-going youth, who did not ap- 
prove of overwork for himseK or others ; but gave short 
lessons, and long recesses. Nor was he unduly severe on 
little asides carried on during session ; for but lately a boy 
too, — he hked a bit of amusement himself. One of these 
he found in reading, “ Thinks I to Myself,” ‘‘ Laugh and 
grow Fat,” and such-hke. Occasionally he livened up the 
students, by reading a few pages from the former aloud, 
and he, and they, all laughed together ; though if the mirth 
grew very obstreperous, he checked it up. In spite of aU 
the nonsense that winter, considerable was learned ; and 
though some old fogies thought this school hardly “fair 
to middling,” — the youngsters deemed it prime. Another 
teacher here, from some cause best known to himself, one 
day fell asleep in his chair ; and then of course all kinds of 
pranks soon began. By and by, the increasing tumult 
aroused him ; and instinctively seizing his rod he started 
to his feet ; but he found no mob to quell. All was silence. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


583 


and guilty and innocent alike were intent on their books. 
Who, and how many deserved punishment, was the ques- 
tion, — one of time and trouble. So to save all this, and 
yet make sure of the culprits, he whipped them aU — the 
entire school — handsomely, and well satisfied, returned to his 
seat and his nap. But after this little game had been 
played a time or two more, the victims mutinied ; and the 
next time they saw him fast in the land of Nod, they winked 
at each other ; and tiptoeing out, one by one, they ran 
home. And the churl felt foolish enough when he opened 
his eyes, to find only empty space, with none to growl at, 
or dismiss but himself. In some schools the rod was flung 
at the offender’s feet as a token that it must be borne back 
to the owner, who was grimly waiting to use it ; and occa- 
sionally three or four unfortunates, all grasping it at once, 
marched up together. These crestfallen kinds of proces- 
sions were highly entertaining to the rest, tiU their own turn 
to officiate came. A few were cruel enough to call a boy 
out publicly, and order him to the woods to cut a rod for 
his own back, forcing him also to lay off his coat — ^but not 
many. Some kept a dunce-stool, and a fools-cap for the 
idle, or made them promenade round the stove, or squat 
under a bench like a toad. Others f erruled the hands severe- 
ly, or pinched, and boxed ears. Nearly all kept the “in and 
out ” paddles hanging by the door ; but despite these, two or 
three often got out at once ; enough to hold a social chat, 
or play a quiet game. “ Then there were the high-schools, 
for though there were no colleges, academies, libraries, 
apparatus, endowments, .... almost nothing now thought 
essential ; yet there were high-schools even then, in the 
best sense of the term.” These were aU, or mainly, taught 
by the Presbyterian clergy in their own cramped cabins ; 
and one such in Fayette County, we describe by quoting 
from that rare book, “ The Monongahela of Old,” this pas- 
sage : “We have before us a newspaper of 1794, containing 


584 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


an advertisement * by Kev. J. Dunlap, f afterward president 
of Jefferson College, and William Littell, Esq. (afterward 
a lawyer and author of eminence, setting forth that 
they had opened a school in Franklin Township ; where 
they teach ‘elocution and the English language gram- 
matically, together with the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew 
languages, geometry and trigonometry, with their applica- 
tion to mensuration, surveying, gauging, etc. Likewise 
geography and civil history, natural and moral philosophy, 
logic and rhetoric.’ ‘Boarding and washing may be had at 
reputable houses in the vicinity at the low rate of ten 
pounds per annum,’ etc. How long this nursery of litera- 
ture and science continued we know not, .... or who, or 
how many were its students ; it was, however, for a while 
well sustained, and several of the clergy and other profes- 
sional men who rose in this country and in the West, in the 
close of the last century, there received their learning ; 
among the former was Kev. G Hill, father of Col. A. M. 
Hill.” 

But, dropj)ing schools high and low, we turn to churches. 
A few of these were mentioned in a former chapter ; but 
here the rise of all the sects in Fayette (so far as known) 
will appear together. 

The Quakers and Dunkers, though they never became 
very numerqus here, came early, and had a good influence 
on the settlement. Regular Baptists were also early comers, 
some here in 1766-8. Kev. H. Crosby was preaching for 
them in 1770-1. Church at Smithfield was organized 1780, 

* In reading “ The Monongahela of Old we have been much in- 
terested ; and especially by this old-time advertisement, as we here 
very unexpectedly came on a scrap of family history, — said Dr. D. 
having been a valued friend, and William Littell, a near, though long- 
buried kinsman. 

f Dr. Dunlap was the Presbyterian pastor of Laurel Hill and Dun- 
lap’s Creek Churches. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


585 


with 34 members — Great Bethel, at Uniontown, being per- 
haps considerably earher. Presbyterians were among the 
first settlers, and two of their ministers came out on a mis- 
sionary tour here in 1766. Kev. James Finley was also a pio- 
neer preacher. Their earliest deed for church property 
(preserved) was given by Jas. Caldwell, 1773. The first 
Methodist society seems to have started here about 1780. 
Bishop Asbury preached here to a great congregation in 1784; 
and four years later Conference met in Uniontown, and Mrs. 
Ann M. not only furnished a place for the meeting, but en- 
tertained the whole body, the bishop included. They held 
their first camp-meeting near Jennings’ Bun in 1805. Their 
growth during the century has been marvellous. The Cum- 
berland Presbyterian Church originated in the South in 1810, 
and was started here, 1833, by Kev. J. Morgan, Milton Biid, 
A. M. Bryan. The Protestant Methodist Church arose here 
in 1829-30, Dr. George Brown and Dr. Basset being two of 
its eminent leaders and defenders. Disciples Church was 
started here in 1827, by Kev. Alex. Campbell, formerly a 
Presbyterian minister. The first Catholic society was or- 
ganized in Brownville about the beginning of this century ; 
but the advent of the Episcopalians, Mennonites, and some 
other sects, is not known. Among the latter are the Luther- 
ans, though it is known they arrived early — some say built 
the first church (t. e., log-cabin) in Fayette Co. Kev. John 
Stough, a good and able divine, was their first stated pastor, 
and his memory is still cherished. Kev. S. was pastor 50 
years ; preached 1 0,000 times, confirmed 1,516, baptized 
3,000, married 481 couples, attended 400 funerals. Some 
seven or eight years since, two venerable members from 

O called on John Troutman, their relative, inquiring 

about their reverend ancestor’s life and work ; and with 
him for guide and companion, aU three of the ancients drove 

to G to see his farm and church, and visit his well- 

marked grave. 

25* 


686 


BOSE AND ELZA. 


SABBATH-SCHOOLS AND OTHER ORGANIZATIONS IN F . 

At the Tent Eaikes Centennial, the credit of the first 
Sabbath-school in Fayette was given to Menallen township, 
and the honor of founding it to Miss Kebecca Stewart (sis- 
ter of A. Stewart, Esq.). Miss S., it was stated, first gath- 
ered the idle children into an office in her father’s yard, 
where she taught them the “ Old Story ” from the Bible, 
the Westminster Catechism, and Watts* Hymns. She had 
no library, no pictures, no papers — nothing to entice or 
amuse, as picnics, excursions, and Christmas trees ; noth- 
ing but these two grand, solemn old books, the Bible,, and 
an earnest, loving heart. And yet her school prospered 
and increased till the place was crowded ; and then, to 
make room for all, she removed it to the barn. After a 

while Dr. C. and others began to ride out from town occa- 
. » ^ ^ 

. sionally to encourage her and give a word of exhortation ; 

but for some time she carried it on unaided and alone. 

The second school was started by M. Finley, in or near 
Salem ; and the third * by Ken. Duncan, Wm. Nixon, and 
Elial Freeman, at Amity, or, as it was oftener called, “ Ore 
Bank School-house.” Sometimes there was prayer-meeting 
after school here ; and at other times many, both teachers 
and classes, went on to the Tent to preaching. Against 
they reached home, some had walked six miles ; but they 
felt fully rewarded. 

However, before long a Sabbath-school was started at 
the Tent, which continues to the present day. For many 
years it began at eight o’clock, and, after a short recess, 
Bible-class and public worship followed. 

According to the best records accessible at present, the 
4ates below are nearly or quite correct as to the rise of the 


^ This school had a small library. Most of the books were very 
grave and solid, but they were read. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


587 


foLowing organizations in Fayette : First Sabbath-school 
started about 1825 ; first temperance society,* 1828-9 ; 
first female missionary society, 1837-8. This old-fashioned 
sewing-circle deserves more than such brief mention. Dr. 
F. was a warm friend to missions, and led others to feel a 
like interest. One of his first converts west of the moun- 
tains died on the foreign field (India), and, influenced by 
her devotion, and aided by his wisdom and zeal, many of 
the ladies of his charge early espoused the cause. They met 
monthly for a long period ; but how many they numbered, 
or what dues they paid, is unknown. Both must have been 
considerable, though, as we find their contributions amount- 
ed to from $100 to $120 annually ; and occasionally it rose 
to $150 per year. Middle-aged, old and young met toge- 
ther ; but the principal part were of the former class — 
careful mothers and housewives, busy Marthas cumbered 
with endless cares. Yet in their quiet, unosteiltatious way, 
these pious, self-denying women did a good and (consider- 
ing their means) a gTeat work for Christ. And though they 
have long ceased from their labors, and their places know 


* Both Smithfield and Springhill claim the honor of this first soci- 
ety; but let it pass. At all events, it was begun thereabout. The 
meeting was led in prayer by Dr. Fairchild, and addressed by Dr. 
Campbell ; and then the pledge was read and presented to the audi- 
ence. It was signed by many of the leading citizens, several of these 
being wealthy farmers, whose principles were tried the following 
harvest, when “no rum, no reaping,” became the cry. Some, per- 
haps many, offered this compromise to their hands : “ No drams, but 
more than the price of them added to your wages.” Some angrily 
refused this, and went home, vowing profanely that “the grain 
might rot before they would reap it.” .But others, after a little de- 
murring, accepted the terms, and, masters and men going to work 
with a will, the harvest was generally gotten in in good condition, 
despite the desertion of the rumites ; and the faithful workers went 
to rest every night sober and well, and each with an extra silver piece 
in his i)ocket. 


588 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


them no more, yet their example remains, and their record 
is on high. 

So much for county facts, and figures. Now pardon a 
fragment of State statistics, culled from solid histories, late 
cyclopaedias, and other high authorities. Yet, to he frank, 
will say these are added for a definite purpose — L e., are here 
not so much to instruct the young or enteirtain the general 
reader, as to enlighten or extinguish certain malapert or 
misguided critics we wot of, regular successors of the 
naughty spies, who have the marvellous assurance and ill- 
taste to be frequently making up an evil report of our good 
land. These have called Pennsylvania slow, drowsy, old- 
fashioned ; have laughed at her stunted towns as ‘ little but 
ould,’ standing still forever, or decaying gradually like 
stumps in a clearing ; have sneered at her lack of enterprise 
and progress, called her land rough and poor, her whisky 
rings strong, her legislators weak or rascally, her courts cor- 
rupt,” etc., etc., and have complained that, ‘‘ with all her sins 
and shortcomings, her silly nathes (especially Payette 
Countians) were fond and proud of her.” Oh, well, good 
people, these benighted natives, with a broad patriotism, 
love all their country too, every section passing well, but 
naturally love Sylvania best. They plead guilty here, and 
promise no amendment. They have State pride, and expect 
to keep it ; for, despite all that can be urged against her, 
false or true, she is still a State to be proud of. The key- 
stone of the original arch, she was in many things first in 
importance among the thirteen ; and now when nearly half 
a hundred States and Territories surround her, is second to 
but one in population, and second to none in health, beauty, 
loyalty, and historic interest. One of* the best agricultural, 
and best cultivated States, she is also first in manufactures, 
as to number, and capital invested. Her mineral wealth is 
unbounded, her forests wave like Lebanon, her valleys grow 
every (almost) tree good for food or pleasant to the sight ; 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


589 


her pure, cold waters are inexhaustible, her lumber and iron 
trade is immense, her petroleum lights the world.* 

As to eminent men, she owns by birth, or adoption, a Frank- 
lin, Fulton, Morris, Gallatin, Eittenhouse, Taylor, West, Ste- 
phens, Blaine, and other undying names. As to grand and 
picturesque scenery, and famous places a full proportion are 
hers ; and the proudest street in America bears her name. A 
New York author even goes further, saying : “ This is tlie 
promenade of statesmen of every land, and in some respects 
the most historic street in the world, is this thoroughfare of 
our Federal Capital, Pennsylvania Avenue.” “ The cradle 
of American liberty, — Philadelphia rang in her natal day ; 
here the immortal Declaration of Independence was penned, 
proclaimed,” and remains forever. “Here, the first Con- 
gress convened, and continued to meet for a decade,” and 
here all tribes and tongues from the ends of the earth, and 
the islands of the sea, thronged to celebrate her Centennial. 
“ Pennsylvania was foremost in resisting British aggressions, 
and led in all the momentous events of the Eevolution.” 
In great political contests it became a proverb, “ As goes 
the Keystone, so goes the Union.” Each party sought her 
aid in peace, and in war no less. In the French war her 
, sons fought bravely, and in every war since. “ In the late 
Eebellion, of all the States, she was most imperilled, and her 
moral and physical power in determining the question of 

war was exceptionally great In the dark winter of 

18G1, her Governor was first called to speak officially, defin- 
ing the relations of his State to the border States, and to 
the General Government. It was a time when a mistake 
would have been a crime, and its consequences immeasura- 

* These notes on Pa. belong properly to Chap. XXY. , under the mot- 
to, “ This is my own, my native land,"^ but, having unfortunately been 
omitted there, may enter here ; for, being chiefly quotations, there is 
no vanity in saying they are too good to lose, and can stand on their 
own merits anywhere, whether in their proper niche or not. 


590 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


ble ; . . . . and all the States of the North waited for his 
utterances to guide them, and the South paused in the mad 
tide of revolt, to wait the position of the great central Com- 
monwealth. Curtin spoke : ‘ Come peace, come war, Penn- 
sylvania stands by the Government,’ and all her loyal sons 
cried amen, and first of all, flew to the defence of the en- 
dangered capital. Pennsylvania was represented by her 
sons, when the first rebel shell struck Fort Sumter, and 
when their last volley re-echoed round Appomattox, they 
were there ; and in every important intermediate battle, 
whether on land or sea, none stood firmer than they. 
Always prompt with her quotas, the Keystone sent nearly 
half a million * men against the Eebellion, yet thrice it in- 
vaded her soil ; on it the storm culminated, its topmost 
wave dashed against her capital, and as was mete from 
thence, where the blood of freemen from eighteen loyal 
States hallowed her soil, — from glorious Gettysburg the 
Rebelhon staggered backward to its grave But an- 

other retrospective glance, — another distinction, Pennsyl- 
vania is the only American colony ever planted without out- 
rage and bloodshed, and hers the only national treaty ever 
made without an oath, and the only one ever kept inviolate. f 

* In all, Pennsylvania’s troops, ready equipped, amounted to about 
400,000, — 50,000 of whom perished, and 100,000 returned disabled by 
wounds or disease.” ' 

f “England owing Baronet Penn $80,000, gave this tract in pay- 
ment. Being a natural grass and woods country, where besides 
ornamental trees, over thirty-five species of valuable trees for timber 
fiourished, Penn for this reason, i. e., the extent and variety of 
its forests, named it Sylvania, and the king (Charles II.) prefixed 
the other syllable, in honor of the father. Admiral Sir Wm. Penn. 
Armed with the royal charter, Penn reached his grant in 1082, but feel- 
ing that the Indians were the real owners, he summoned the tribes 
to meet him at Shackamaxon, now Philadelphia, and repurchased 
the land of them, giving them their own price, and adding many 
presents besides. And then, instead of ejecting them from the twice 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


591 


Founded by a good and brave man, who sought to benefit 
the natives, not rob, murder, or banish them, he kept per- 
fect faith with the chiefs, and treated all as friends and 
brothers, and it was then that these poor savages, melted 
and amazed at such kindness from a ‘ pale-face,’ vowed, — 
‘ We will live in peace with William Penn so long as the 
sun and moon shall endure.’ * The colony thus planted in 
righteousness, was dedicated to hberty, justice, and mercy ; 
where education and freedom of conscience were to be en- 
joyed by aU, and the oppressed of every name find a refuge.” 

All citizens, red and white, ^vere exhorted by Penn as 
childi’en of one Great Spirit, to worship Him devoutly, and 
hve in peace and love together ; but should any disputes 
arise, provided that they should be settled impartially by a 
jury of six English, and six Indians. Then (before How- 
ard’s work), prisons were usually hideous dens of disease 
and torture ; and exile or death was common even for 
small offences ; but this enlightened legislator enacted that 
convicts should be lodged decently, and (as far as possible) 
be taught and reclaimed as well as punished, and capital 
punishment he forbade entirely, except for murder. In 
short, aU the laws of his Dominion were at once so wise and 
merciful, and yet so just and firm, that it became the model 
of other nations, and has always held high rank in the con- 
federacy. True to the impress of the master-mind, Penn- 
sylvania was one of the first States to abolish slavery, and 
engage in w’orks of philanthropy. She is noted as being 
singularly rich in hospitals, refuges, homes, alms-houses, 
asylums, and aU manner of public charities, while her very 

bought land, permitted them to remain if peaceable, and occupy it 
jointly with the whites ; for said he : ‘ The Great Spirit who made 
us all, knoweth that I do heartily desire to do you good, not evil, and 
serve you to the utmost of my power.’ ” 

^ This bond of friendship remained firm for seventy years, till 
broken by the whites. 


592 


EOSE AND ELZA. 


prisons are industrial and educational institutions, and 
moral reformatories. Her colleges vie with the best ; her 
free schools * dot every district, and Christian churches for 
. high and low, rich and poor, everywhere abound, and her 
Soldiers’ Orphans Schools crown her with glory. Yes, while 
several other States f following her example have done 
something for a part of the destitute, Pennsylvania was the 
first one to begin, — the only one to complete and carry on 
a thorough system to succor all. To the Keystone, through 
her war-Governor, the Solon of the West, it was left to re- 
vive, if not originate, the noble law,J making the patriots’ 
orphans the nation’s wards. To every departing soldier, 
Pennsylvania said : “ If you fall your dust shall be returned 
to rest with kindi’ed dust, — your children shall be cared for, 
and so far as possible both pledges have been redeemed.” 
The latter, the aiding of the soldiers’ families, began in 1864. 
At first, only the fatherless were received, but gradually the 
sheltering arms were extended further and further, till not 
only the destitute orphans of every Pennsylvania soldier 
and sailor, white or black, who died in battle or hospital, 
was welcomed, but also the children of those who had been 
disabled in the war, or had died since from diseases con- 
tracted there, were gathered in, and as the State’s proteges. 


* A late report says : The public schools of Pennsylvania now 
number nearly 20,000."' 

t Connecticut, and probably other places, have aided some of their 
soldiers’ orphans by private efforts ; but the following seem to be the 
only States that made appropriations for the cause. Ohio has one 
Soldiers’ Orphans’ School ; Mississippi has one ; Minnesota has one ; 
Iowa has three such schools ; while good old Pennsylvania has estab- 
lished in all, and generously supported, forty-seven or forty-eight of 
these institutions where her orphan-wards are trained till sixteen, and 
then placed in comfortable homes. 

f Ancient history mentions a somewhat similar law as having 
been passed in Athens 2,500 years since by Solon. 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


593 


fed, clothed, educated, and lodged in handsome halls, sur- 
rounded by beautiful grounds, to pass a happy childhood, 
till sixteen years of age. And these noble asylums are not 
only safe refuges, and thorough educational and industrial 
institutions, but refined Christian homes as well, where the 
pupils are most carefully trained for both worlds ; health, 
minds, manners, morals, souls, all are watched over with 
sleepless vigilance. From rules concerning -the latter, we 
condense and quote. ‘‘ (1) The laws of Pennsylvania being 
based on the principles of Christianity, regular instruction 
in religion is an indispensable element in the proper educa- 
tion of all her children.” ‘‘ (2) These orphans are not only 
to be instructed in good morals, but in the Christian system 
itself, as found in the Scrij)tures, .... the origin of that 
system, and due reverence for its Divine Author.” ‘‘ (3) 
There shall be grace before meals, and aU shall habitually 
attend Sunday-school and public worship on the Sabbath, 
and family worship every night and morning, this consist- 
ing at least of Scripture reading, singing and prayer.” “ (4) 
Every child sufficiently advanced, is to be supplied with a 
Bible and hymn-book, and teachers by precept and example 
shall influence all to read them understandingly, and join 
in songs of praise. Other reading is also abimdant, relig- 
ious papers and books being regarded as indispensable. 
The practice of individual prayer by the pupils on retiring 
to rest, and arising, is to be taught and encouraged, though 
not forced.” ‘‘ (5) No pupils in these schools are to go out 
to attend night meetings ; nor shall any undue means be 
used to get up a religious excitement among them, or effect 
an ill-considered profession of conversion ; this momentous 
step being better left to the times and influences of the 
Divine Spirit, promised to faithful and prayerful instruction, 
etc. In short, no pains is spared to fit these orphans, physi- 
cally, mentally, morally, for the stern duties of this life, and 
the enjoyment of the better one above. By this noble sys- 


694 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


tern 14,800 of this class have already been received and ed- 
ucated at a cost of $7,641,264.16, and the good work (begun 
in ’64) still continues, and will go on till 1890, when the last 
such child will have passed beyond the years of depend- 
ency.” * Happy children of a generous Commonwealth ; 
doubtless wherever scattered they will love their native 
State, cherish the memory of her orphan schools, and bless 
the name of their founder, the ‘‘soldiers’ friend,” Gov. An- 
drew Gregg Curtin, of Pennsylvania. So much for the Key- 
stone, and the half has not been told. “ Boasting,” says one ; 
“ Arrant spread-eagleism,” cries another ; “ Honor where 
honor is due,” say we. But now, the loyal heart relieved, 
the ruffled wing may be smoothed, and descending from 
this lofty excursive flight we turn to lower themes. 


* Fayette has one of these schools, begun September 19, 1866, in 
Uniontown, but in ’76 (for good reasons) removed four and a half 
miles east to Dunbar’s Camp, on the mountain. Here the pupils have 
all the advantages of a first-class school, and beautiful Christian 
home ; and also enjoy the privileges of a boundless play-ground, 
3,000 feet high, among scenery at once so grand and historic, as to 
draw hosts of tourists and pleasure-seekers every season. The cost 
in all has been $260,183.13, and it has received 788 scholars.” That 
its location and sanitary regulations are all that can be asked, we 
need no better evidence than that out of nearly 800 pupils, but nine 
have died from disease during eighteen years, and three from acci- 
dental causes. Adjacent, is a handsome, gothic, stone chapel, built 
at the principal’s own expense, and in it a memorial window bears 
this inscription, Uniontown Soldiers’ Orphans’ School, 1866, Jumon- 
ville, 1876.” The principal and proprietor is Rev. A. H. Waters, 
a veteran educator, and at once the teacher, pastor, and father of the 
fatherless, whose care for their welfare, temporal and spiritual, and 
prudence and faithfulness in all things, has been tried, and proved 
beyond all controversy. To Rev. W. , the writer is indebted for the 
use of books. Annual Reports, etc., from which many of the facts 
concerning this system were derived. 


ROSE Am) ELZA. 


596 


CHAPTEE L. 

CONCLUSION. 

Peace, peace, no more, step down and leave the stage; stand not 

upon the order of your going, but go at once."’ Exeunt, 

Some characters in this work we have followed from in- 
fancy to age and death, — some have had a shorter notice, 
some the briefest mention ; but even the latter class, and 
others connected with them who have not been named at 
all here, were once well-known citizens, and had each a his- 
tory of his own. 

Some of these, averse to change, spent all their years on 
the same farm, and there under their own soil, on sunny 
slope, or in shady grove. He buried to-day. But other rest- 
less souls emigrated early, till of large connections, not one 
of the name or race remains in the county or State. 

Life with some who went, and with some who stayed, 
passed placidly by ; but with others proved very eventful. 
Wealth changed hands, — the poor became rich, the rich poor ; 
nameless waifs rose, old names went down, broken reeds 
grew strong, and strong pillars trembled and fell. And 
there were wild adventures, tragic deaths, and strange sep- 
ulchres. Some died on far-distant battle-fields, or in In- 
dian magsacres, and sleep, — none know where. Some sunk 
by crime or misfortune to prisons and alms-houses, and 
descended to paupers’ and felons’ graves. Three fell by the 
lightning’s flash, four were killed by angry beasts, five per- 
ished in the flames. The turbid waves of Mad Eiver swept 
one away, the broad Pacific holds a second, and the deep 
Atlantic rolls over another. The Southern Ocean, and the 
jungles of Africa have received our dead, and — but why go 


596 


ROSE AND ELZA. 


on, this must suffice here ; though worthy of a volume, — 
these must wait some future bard or abler chronicler. 

As it Is a stereotyped remark, “No one reads prefaces or 
introductions,” so none have been offered, — but perhaps an 
explanatory sentence or two may be tolerated here, in this 
closing paragraph. Some have inquired, “ Are these sketches 
all founded on facts ? ” . We answer, “ Yes,” — or rather they 
are the facts — ^pure and simple, as received from old, relia- 
ble citizens, the children of the pioneers, who were them- 
selves the eye-witnesses or actors. Dates have often been 
omitted, names both of persons and places are generally 
assumed, etc. But excepting such slight variations, the 
book is true from title to finis. Every event described 
occurred, every character was a real person. Every actor 
(down to the childi^en’s pets, woolly, furred, or feathered), so 
filled its place and played its part. 

Such were the times, the fashions, the customs, that Kose* 
and Elza knew ; and thus the fathers lived in by-gone 
days. 


FINIS. 









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